BM 


N 


,     ,ANNE 


*<<*•-';•-/ 


&S 


THE    BOOK-HUNTER    IN    PARIS 


SHORTLY  WILL  BE  PUBLISHED. 

UNIFORM    WITH 

THE   BOOK-HUNTER   IN   PARIS. 


THE    BOOK-HUNTER 
IN    LONDON, 


MUCH  CURIOUS  AND  ENTERTAINING 

INFORMATION  AND  MANY 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 


THE 


BOOK-HUNTER    IN    PARIS 


STUDIES  AMONG  THE  BOOKSTALLS 
AND  THE  QUAYS 


BY 


OCTAVE     UZANNE 


WITH  A  PREFACE  BY  AUGUSTINE  BIRRELL, 

AUTHOR    OF    '  OBITER    DICTA,'    '  RES  JUDICAT^,'    ETC. 


CHICAGO 
A.   C.    McCLURG   &   CO. 

1893 


PREFACE. 


N  these  vocal  days,  when  there  are  books  about  almost 
everything  under  the  sun,  no  one  need  wonder  that 
so  quaint  a  fraternity  as  the  stall-keepers  on  the 
quays  of  the  Seine  should  have  a  volume  all  to 
themselves.  They  have  a  place  in  French  his- 
tory, these  men;  their  trade,  which  by  the  beginning  of 
the  seventeenth  century  had  learnt  to  cluster  round  the  Pont 
Neuf,  has  travelled  through  vicissitudes  peculiar  to  itself,  and 
survived  revolutions  destructive  of  interests  vaster  than  its 
own;  these  humble  vendors  of  old  books  have  been  proclaimed 
as  nuisances,  obstructing  the  highway,  denounced  as  receivers 
of  stolen  goods,  and  informed  against  as  cheapeners  of  the 
well-housed  stock  of  the  authorized  booksellers  who  kept  shop, 
and  paid  rent,  rates,  and  taxes.  M.  Uzanne  makes  us  ac- 
quainted with  the  precise  terms  of  royal  edicts  and  decrees 
levelled  at  the  heads  of  these  open-air  traders,  who,  however, 


ri  PREFACE 

as  was  indeed  befitting,  seem  usually  to  have  had  friends  at 
Court,  who  managed  to  prevent  such  an  administration  of  the 
law  as  must  have  exterminated  the  whole  tribe. 

A  nd  so  it  has  come  to  pass  that  the  stall-keepers  on  the  quays 
of  the  Seine  survive  even  unto  this  day  to  excite  the  curiosity 
of  every  vagrant  bookhunter  who  visits  the  most  charming  city 
in  the  world. 

M.  Uzanne  has  collected  a  vast  deal  of  heterogeneous  in- 
formation about  these  ancient  stall-keepers,  their  «/>s  and  downs, 
and  the  buffets  of  fortune  to  which  both  they  and  their  wares 
have  been  exposed.  He  tells  «s  how  from  his  lodgings  he  can 
see,  from  the  Pont  Royal  to  the  Pont  des  A  rts,  the  long  line  of 
stalls  which  border  if  they  do  not  decorate  the  Seine.  '  This 
picture,'  says  he,  '  which  is  always  under  my  eye,  I  have  but  to 
give  life  to,  but  to  arouse  from  slumber  its  historic  tradition, 
only  to  analyze  its  different  moods,  and  to  narrate  the  legends 
of  •  the  chief  characters  who  go  to  make  up  its  quaint  per- 
sonality. This  task,'  adds  M.  Uzanne,  '  is  relatively 
easy.' 

Frenchmen  are  reported  to  find  most  tasks  easy.  They  have 
certainly  great  resources.  To  a  dull  Englishman  nothing  can 
well  seem  more  difficult  than  the  work  M.  Uzanne  has  set 
himself  to  perform.  To  awaken  slumbrous  traditions  and  to 
make  a  long  line  of  departed  stall-keepers  by  the  Seine  live  over 
again  in  a  printed  page  is  a  job  which  would  burden  the 
patience  of  a  Balzac,  and  weary  the  pictorial  imagination  of 


PREFACE  vii 

a  Carlyle  ;  but  M.  Uzanne  at  all  events  attempts  it  in  good 
faith,  and  concludes  it  in  good  spirits. 

One  is  glad  to  note  that  our  author  almost  entirely  discards 
the  traditional,  affected,  sham-emotional  style  of  the  book-hunter 
— that  style  which  in  the  heavy  hand  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Dibdin 
becomes  so  unutterably  wearisome  and  repulsive.  There  is 
surely  no  need  for  a  lover  of  old  books  to  write  about  them  in 
a  strain  of  maudlin  sentiment.  The  fact  is,  almost  as  much 
nonsense  has  been  written  about  books  as  in  them.  To  listen  to 
some  people  you  might  almost  fancy  it  was  within  their  power 
to  build  a  barricade  of  books,  and  sit  behind  it  mocking  the 
slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune.  It  is  all,  or  nearly 
all,  a  vain  pretence.  Book-hunting  is  a  respectable  pursuit,  an 
agreeable  pastime,  an  aid  to  study,  but  so  are  many  other 
Pastimes  and  pursuits ;  and  well  would  it  have  been  if  the 
historians  of  book -hunting  had  caught  but  a  little  of  the  grace- 
ful simplicity  and  sincerity  of  an  Izaak  Walton  or  a  Gilbert 
White.  But  no  !  for  the  most  part  these  historians  are  masses 
of  affectation,  boasters  of  bargains,  retailers  of  prices,  never 
touching  the  heart  or  refining  the  fancy.  Gilbert  White  has 
made  many  naturalists,  Izaak  Walton  many  an  angler;  but 
sham  raptures  over  rare  volumes,  and  bombastic  accounts  of 
bygone  auctions,  have  never  helped  to  swell  the  ranks  of  the 
noble  army  of  book-hunters. 

M.  Uzanne  is  justly  scornful  of  the  old-fashioned  bouquiniste 
who   would  have  you  believe  that   when   he  was  young  the 


viii  PREFACE 

humblest  stall  in  Paris,  London,  or  Amsterdam  creaked  with 
treasure  to  be  redeemed  for  a  few  sous,  pence,  or  groschen. 
The  time  has  really  gone  by  for  rapturous  stones  about  old 
purloiners  like  '  Snuffy  Davy,'  who,  as  Sir  Walter  Scott  has 
told  the  world,  bought  in  Holland,  Caxton's  '  Game  of  Chess  ' 
for  twopence-halfpenny,  and  sold  it  for  -£20 — its  present  value 
being  perhaps  £700.  We  live  now  in  instructed  times.  Book- 
sellers by  their  catalogues  have  produced  an  astonishing  uni- 
formity of  price.  There  are  fashions  and  foibles,  high  prices 
and  low  ;  but  there  are  now  in  the  book-market  prices  current. 
And  honesty  thrives  thereby.  The  sooner  the  young  book- 
hunter  forgets  all  about  'Snuffy  Davy  '  the  better,  both  for  his 
morals  and  his  collection.  Fine  libraries  are  not  made  up  of 
bargains  and  lucky  'finds,'  but  are  the  result  of  patient  study 
and  persistent  and  courageous  buying.  '  Ntilla  dies  sine 
libro '  is  a  good  maxim  of  behaviour,  by  steady  adherence  to 
which  a  plain  man  may  hope  to  live  to  see  himself  surrounded 
by  a  library,  small  indeed,  but  well  selected,  as  the  phrase 
runs. 

Book-hunting  overleaps  the  narrow  boundaries  of  nations. 
I  know  a  Russian  Count  who  is  a  keen  collector  of  so  mere  a 
modernity  as  Cruikshank,  and  whose  tea-table  groans  with  the 
catalogues  of  English  booksellers,  which  he  scans  with  an 
attention  which  never  seems  to  flag. 

It  adds  zest  to  travel  to  be  ever  on  the  alert  in  this  matter. 
Aulus  Gellius,  as  M.  Uzanne  very  properly  reminds  us,  on 


PREFACE  ix 

landing  at  Brindisi,  ran  with  the  eagerness  of  the  true  book- 
hunter  to  examine  the  contents  of  a  bookstall  which  imme- 
diately met  his  eye.  He  found  there,  dirty  and  dusty,  Aristceus 
of  Proconesus,  Ixogonos  of  Niccea,  Ctesias  Onesicritus,  and 
others,  whose  names,  he  adds,  are  but  of  mediocre  authority. 
However,  the  good  Aulus  purchased  them,  apparently  for  no 
better  reason  than  that  the  price  was  reasonable.  It  is  usually 
the  mediocre  author  who  abounds  on  bookstalls,  though  famous 
authors  in  superseded  editions,  or  authors  once  famous  but 
superseded  altogether,  are  seldom  absent.  But  books  die  away 
even  from  the  stalls.  A  quarter  of  a  century  ago  no  English 
stall  was  without  its  '  Zimmermann  on  Solitude,'  or  its  Hervey's 
'Meditations,''  its  Gessner's  'Death  of  Abel,'  or  its  Newton's 
'  Cardiphonia.'  These  familiar  though  woebegone  volumes  no 
longer  catch  my  eye  ;  but  perhaps  my  sight  grows  dim,  and 
they  are  still  there,  bewailing  the  fickle  taste  of  man. 

In  France,  so  M.  Uzanne  tells  us,  old-fashioned  editions  of 
La  Harpe,  Buff  on,  U  Encyclopedic,  the  works  of  Voltaire  and 
Rousseau,  correspond  to  our  Gibbon,  Robertson  and  Hume, 
and  Flavins  Josephus,  that  learned  Jew. 

It  is  a  tribute  to  the  enormous  reputation  of  Shakespeare 
that  he  has  never  become  a  regular  inmate  of  the  stall.  You 
will  not  often  find  Rowe's  edition,  or  Pope's,  or  Theobald's, 
or  even  Johnson's,  doing  penance  in  the  open  air.  Robertson 
is.  perhaps,  the  most  '  exposed  '  author  in  Great  Britain. 

In  Catholic  countries  books  of  devotion  play  apart  unknown 


x  PREFACE 

to  us,  who,  indeed,  have  none  indigenous  to  ourselves  save 
Jeremy  Taylor's  l  Holy  Living  and  Dying' — none,  I  mean,  of 
great  popularity.  In  France  they  fill  whole  boxes.  Such 
comparisons  are  not  without  interest. 

The  French  have  a  feeling  for  books  and  bindings  which 
imparts  a  peculiar  grace  and  dignity  to  the  pursuit  of  book- 
hunting  as  there  carried  on.  The  phrase  '  secondhand  book- 
seller '  has  with  ws  a  soiled  sound,  and  yet  what  sort  of  a 
bookseller  is  he  who  is  content  to  supply  the  books  of  the 
year  ? 

It  is  only  necessary  to  read  the  book-catalogues  of  Messrs. 
Morgand  and  Fatont,  of  the  Passage  des  Panoramas,  to  renounce 
once  and  for  ever  the  abominable  heresy  that  a  bookseller  pro- 
perly so-called  is  a  shopkeeper  who  supplies  you  with  envelopes 
and  paper,  and  new  books  at  a  discount  of  threepence  in  the 
shilling.  No !  the  true  bookseller  is  even  as  are  Messrs. 
Morgand  and  Fatont.  But  these  glorified  beings  are  dear ; 
their  '  secondhand  '  books  were  once  owned  by  emperors  and 
kings  and  princes  of  the  Church,  their  wives,  and  their  concu- 
bines. Famous  craftsmen,  with  names  as  well  known  as  Francia 
or  Cellini,  laboured  those  bindings,  and  gilded  those  leaves. 
They  are  not  for  all  markets.  The  millionaires  of  the  New 
World  are  eager  to  possess  them,  and  who  dare  blame  them  ? 
1  Snuffy  Davy,'  with  his  scarecrow  visage  and  threadbare 
raiment,  has  no  place  provided  for  him  in  the  Passage  des 


PREFA CE  x 

Panoramas.  He  must  carry  his  groschen  to  the  banks  of  the 
Seine,  where,  though  he  will  find  no  Caxtons,  not  even  any 
early  Molieres,  he  may  yet  so  far  gratify  his  felonious  instincts 
as  to  buy  for  a  franc  something  which  in  course  of  time  may  be 
Priced  at  a  napoleon. 

But  it  is  time  I  myself  returned  to  the  quays,  where,  so 
M.  Uzanne  tells  us,  150  stall-keepers,  mustering  1,636  boxes 
between  them,  are  still  to  be  found  in  fair  days  and  foul,  plying 
their  ancient  trade,  not  without  profit.  But  I  return  to  them 
only  to  bid  them  farewell,  for  to  describe  them  is  another's 
business. 

The  true  hero  of  this  book,  however,  is  not  a  stall-keeper  but 
a  book-hunter,  the  late  M.  Xavier  Marmier,  a  scholar,  an 
academician,  an  author,  and  a  Christian,  who,  when  he  came 
to  die,  was  moved  by  his  native  kindness  of  disposition  and 
the  memories  of  a  happy  life  to  insert  in  his  last  will  and 
testament  a  bequest  of  1,000  francs  to  the  bookstall-keepers 
on  the  quays  of  the  left  bank,  to  be  spent  in  a  good  dinner. 
'  This,'  adds  the  admirable  testator,  '  must  be  my  acknow- 
ledgment for  the  many  hours  I  have  lived  intellectually  in  my 
almost  daily  walks  on  the  quays  between  the  Pont  Royal  and 
the  Pont  Saint  Michel.' 

The  pious  wish  of  this  lovable  old  man  was  duly  regarded 
on  the  2Oth  of  November,  1892.  Ninety -five  stall- keepers  dined 
on  the  second  floor  in  one  of  Vefour's  rooms.  In  the  appendix 
to  this  volume  will  be  found  both  the  menu  and  the  speech  of 

b 


Xlt 


PREFACE 


the  chairman,  M.  A.  Choppin  d'Arnouville.  The  kind 
reader  will  do  well  to  study  both,  and  to  drink  at  the  next 
opportunity  to  the  dear  and  gentle  memory  of  M.  Xavier 
Marmier,  scholar  and  book-hunter  by  the  quays  of  the  Seine. 

A.  B. 


CONTENTS 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. 


PAGE 

Preface  •       v 

Epistle  Dedicatory :    To  the  Stall-keepers  on  the  Quays  of  the 

Gentle  River  Seine       -  •    xxl 

CHAPTER  II. 

A  Preliminary  Saunter.  The  death  of  the  second-hand  bookseller 
according  to  Nodier— Regrets  of  Jules  Janin  — Past  and 
present— The  quays  transformed— The  bookstall-man  never 
dies— The  contents  of  the  modern  boxes— The  bookstall-man 
of  to-day— Fontaine  de  Resbecq  and  his  literary  rambles  in 
! 857—  The  physiology  of  the  quays  not  yet  written— The 
book-hunter  and  the  bookseller— The  vicissitudes  of  this 
book,  begun  in  1886  and  completed  in  1892— My  co-workers 
—The  changes  in  the  bookstall  world  during  the  last  six  years  I 


xvi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  III. 

I'AGE 

Historic  Prolegomena.  Researches  regarding  the  second-hand 
booksellers  of  the  past— The  bookstalls  of  ancient  Rome  — 
Aulus  Gellius  buys  some  second-hand  books — The  trade  under 
the  porticos — Molinet  on  printing — Erasmus  on  the  plethora 
of  books — Origin  of  the  word  boiiquin — The  Pont  Neuf  and 
the  booksellers  of  the  seventeenth  century — The  first  perse- 
cution of  the  bookstall  men— The  edict  of  1649— The  regrets 
of  Baluze  — First  appearance  of  the  books  on  the  banks  of 
the  Seine  about  1670 — The  primitive  stalls — The  bookstall 
men  increase  in  numbers— Wai. in  on  the  book  trade  of  17:1 
— The  decree  of  the  2oth  October,  1721 — The  quays  in  the 
last  century — The  Cafe"  Anglais  as  a  literary  centre — Diderot 
and  the  wife  of  Greuze — The  street  amusements  —  Signer 
Descomba  —  Origin  of  orvietan  —  Baron  de  Gratelard  — 
Sebastien  Mercier  on  the  second-hand  booksellers — The  quays 
during  the  Revolution — Madame  de  Genlis  on  the  books  for 
sale — Meyer's  Fragments  sur  Paris— A  curious  manuscript 
— Pujoult  on  the  book  trade — Werdet  on  the  improvement 
in  its  character — Bonaparte  and  the  Quai  Cotiti — Achaintre — 
The  edict  of  the  3ist  of  October,  1822 — Alphonse  Karr  on  the 
secondhand  booksellers  of  1835  —  Janin  contradicted  by 
Nodier — Baron  Haussmann's  proposed  book  market— The 
present  stalls  -  -  1 1 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Stall-keepers  who  have  disappeared.  A  few  types  and  por- 
traits— The  parapets  and  their  boxes— Sunday  on  the  quays 
— The  everyday  life  of  a  bookstall-keeper— His  shortcomings 
—  Haussmann's  attempt  to  clear  the  quays — The  Emperor 
visits  the  stalls — Bibliophile  Jacob  and  the  stall-keepers — 
Pere  Foy  and  his  burning  book— The  story  of  Pere  Foy — • 
Rosez — Malorey — Debas — He  serves  on  a  jury — Maynard 


CONTENTS 


rjwuB 

—  Charher  • —  Lecrivain  — Isnard  —  Formage  —  Hazard  — 
Eugene  Flauraud — Raquin — His  scholarship — Lequiller — 
Confait — Janssens — Le  Mazurier — Dubosq — Ambs — Gustave 
Boucher — Abel  Tarride — Lecureux —  Laporte — Rosselin — 
Delahaye — His  illuminations — Fillet — From  the  stall  to  the 
shop  -.  55 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  Stall-keepers  of  To-day.  Characters  and  oddities — No  preva- 
lent type  —  The  shoeblack  as  bookseller  —  Chevalier  — 
Corroenne — Vaisset — Gallandre — Rigault  and  the  Revue  des 
Buloz — Antoine  Laporte — Humel — Jacques — Chanmoru — 
His  projects  for  the  reform  cf  the  bookstalls — His  notices  to 
customers  and  others — A  reminiscence  of  the  siege  of 
Paris — Jean  Frollo  on  Chanmoru — A  new  way  of  beginning 
—  A  find  and  a  bargain — Schanne  on  another  new  departure 
— Ferroud — Rosselin — The  dealer  in  spectacles — Tisserand  -  85 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Book-hunters  and  Book-huntresses.  Characters  and  faces — The 
chase  is  the  image  of  war — The  passion  in  different  forms — 
Delights  of  book-hunting — The  scarcity  of  bargains,  and  the 
reason  why — The  art  of  dressing  a  stall — Certain  books  for 
certain  classes — The  book-huntress — Learned  ladies — The 
student — Gausseron's  experience — The  woman  of  fashion 
never  goes  book-hunting — The  priests — The  casuals — The 
wealthy  collector — Hunting  by  catalogue — Ame'de'e  Pommier 
— Some  noted  book-lovers — Hippolyte  Rigault  on  the  love  of 
books — Bibliophile  Jacob  as  described  by  Du  Seigneur — His 
store-room — Pere  Rembrandt  —  Fillet's  enormous  library — 
Boulard's  300,000  books  —  General  Pittie —  Chantelauze  — 
Champfleury — Feuillet  de  Conches — Michel  Chasles — Captier 
— Xavier  Marmier — His  will — His  library  as  described  by 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Anatole  France — Fontaine — Comte  de  Toustain — Mouton- 
Duvernet — Delzant  and  his  books  on  happiness — Du  Desert 
— Making  up  sets  —  Droz  and  the  Templars — Humbert — 
Huysmans — A  batch  of  book-hunters  —  Grand-Carteret  — 
Demand  for  specimens  of  good  printing — Dr.  Nicholas — 
Chineurs  —  Guffroy  —  Morel,  otherwise  Chipoteau  —  The 
humbler  book-hunters  -  -  -  108 

CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Book-stealers.  Notes  and  observations — The  lowest  depths 
of  thieving — Breaking  into  the  boxes — Thefts  in  the  daytime 
— Robbery  made  easy — The  thief's  devices — A  conspiracy 
among  the  book-binders — Jules  Levy's  mistake — The  '  incom- 
plete copy'  swindle — People  who  require  watching  -  -  147 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Physiology  of  the  Bookstall-keeper.  His  origin  and  his 
career — The  old  class  of  stall-keepers— The  introduction  of 
the  fixed  boxes — The  petition  of  1888 — The  new  men — The 
altered  condition  of  the  trade — Bibliophile  Jacob  on  the  book- 
stall-man —  The  different  types  on  the  different  quays  — 
Remonencq's  stall— The  medalist— The  bookstall-keeper  in 
his  shop — Meeting  of  the  stall-holders — Claudin — Bridoux — 
Vanier— Jolly— Chacornac  — How  to  become  a  bookstall- 
keeper — The  conditions  on  which  the  license  is  granted — 
The  ceremony  of  installation — The  probable  earnings — A 
census  of  the  stalls  -  -  -159 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Trade  in  Books  on  the  Paris  Quays.  How  the  stock  is  pur- 
chased— House  visitation — Review  copies— Worthless  books 
—Waste-paper  dealers  —  Trouillet — Martin  —  Guil  —  Lastic 
Saint-Jal— Brokers— Private  purchases— Holiday  couples— 


CONTENTS 


Students  in  want  of  cash — Percentage  of  profit — Public  sales 
— The  Hotel  Drouot — The  revisionists — Claudin's — TheSalles 
Sylvestre — A  sale  on  the  ground-floor — A  sale  on  the  first- 
floor — The  Legrand  du  Saulle  sale — How  the  purchases  are 
sorted — The  descent  of  the  unsold  book — Nightingales — The 
amateur  again — The  Chansonnier  des  Graces — The  contents 
of  the  boxes  according  to  Victor  Fournel  -  194 

CHAPTER  X. 

Appendix.  The  Banquet  of  the  Bookstall  Men.  Marmier's  will — 
The  invitation — The  company — The  dinner— The  president's 
address  —  A  testimony  to  temperance  —  A  protest  from 
Chanmoru — A  disclaimer  -  -  -22 


EPISTLE  DEDICATORY. 


TO  THE  STALL-KEEPERS  ON  THE  QUAYS 

OF   THE 

GENTLE  RIVER  SEINE. 

UIETLY  or  not  as  you  may  in  your  modesty 
protest,  it  is  to  you,  philosophers  of  the  open 
air  and  of  the  trivial  gain,  that  this  book 
should  be  offered.  To  you  who,  unchanging  and  uncomplain- 
ing, stand  sentinel  from  morn  to  eve  over  the  wrecks  of  human 
thought  that,  by  chance,  languor,  dislike,  or  the  inconstancy  of 
fashion,  have  drifted  into  your  primitive  trays,  as  into  an  'old 
do'  '  store  of  impressions,  to  tempt  once  more  the  curiosity  of  the 
passer-by,  enrich  the  imagination  of  the  poor,  or  excite,  by  the 
search  for  facts,  the  restless  passion  of  the  learned. 

To  you,  in  truth,  should  be  its  dedication,  for  you  were  the 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IX  PARIS 


inspirers  of  this  new  book,  which,  sooner  or  later,  after  running 
through  its  fortune  in  the  springtime  of  its  newness,  and  sub- 
mitting to  the  inevitable  destiny  of  things,  may,  in  the  autumn 
of  its  prosperity ,  founder  in  your  haven  of  the  disinherited,  as 
the  stained  and  faded  leaves  once  freshly  green  are  whirled 
above  your  heads  by  the  aggressive  November  blast,  to  fall 
among  so  many  other  leaves  on  the  cold  parapets  of  the 
Seine. 

Torn  and  damp  and  soiled,  some  squally  day  this  book,  now 
so  trim  in  its  bibliophilic  dandyism,  will  reach  you  :  and  then, 
probably  for  the  first  time,  you  may  read  it  as  you  sit  on  your 
lowly  seats  on  the  breezy  quays,  vaguely  conscious  of  the  hasty 
footsteps  on  the  asphalt,  and  the  fragments  of  mundane  dialogue 
borne  to  you  on  the  wind. 

You  will  read  it  in  its  true  medium  and  surroundings,  and 
assuredly  with  more  interest  and  pleasure  than  its  more  favoured 
— and  more  chilly — readers  who  skim  it  listlessly  as  they  lounge 
and  doze  in  their  easy-chairs  by  the  fireside. 

And  yet  I  have  written  here  no  poem  worthy  of  your  stoicism, 
nor  told  in  well-ordered  verse  of  your  heroic  constancy  under 
frost  and  rain  and  hail  and  shower — brave,  simple,  tireless 
toilers  with  fate,  who,  even  at  the  faintest  smile  of  the  most 
capricious  sky,  will  never  hesitate  to  get  under  sail. 

For  like  sailors  you  are,  in  your  rough-weather  rig,  ready 
for  the  worst,  firm  and  fearless  at  your  stations,  alert  for  the 
storm,  ceaselessly  calking  the  fragile  envelope  of  your  cargo, 
handling  canvas  and  rope  in  the  hour  of  tempest,  and  ever 
ready  to  take  advantage  of  the  first  gleam  of  calm. 

Let  sweet  April  or  hot  August  come,  and  you,  hardy  seamen 
under  December  inclemencies,  change  to  Neapolitan  lazzaroni — 
strangers  to  care,  mere  drinkers  in  of  the  sunshine;  in  the 
golden  light  of  the  cloudless  day  we  see  you  musing  and  languish- 
ing, lolling  half  asleep  on  the  stony  strata  of  your  stalls :  feet 
to  the  north,  head  to  the  south,  spellbound  .sipping  the  air, inhaling 
the  azure,  lulled  by  the  repose  of  the  contemplative  life,  intoxicated 


EPISTLE  DEDICATORY 


with  '  far  niente,'  and  so  blissfully  happy  as  to  give  every  pass- 
ing idler  an  appetite  for  the  siesta  and  such  neutral  joys. 

Then  it  is  that  you  barely  deign  to  enter  into  the  strife  re- 
quired by  supply  and  demand;  leading  on  the  buyer  in  his 
bargaining,  you  are  like  the  Heliades  on  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
caressed  by  the  passing  wind  and  abandoned  to  the  sensations  of 
the  rising  sap.  No  longer  Zeno  or  Cato  rules  your  mind,  but 
at  this  mystic  hour  it  is  Epicurus  himself,  my  friends,  who  to 
you  lays  down  his  laws. 

I  propose  to  make  but  a  slight  incursion  into  your  land  of 
independency  and  Bohemianism,  amiable  dwellers  by  the  river 
Seine,  for  I  felt  that  your  social  constitution,  your  manners, 
yottr  physiognomy,  your  past  life,  would  not  attract  me  beyond 
a  fugitive  study  ;  but  under  the  frail  scaffolding  of  your  public 
position,  I  have  been  pleased  to  discover,  bit  by  bit,  so  many 
diverse  originalities,  so  many  oddities,  so  many  peculiarities 
that  I  have  chosen  to  live  near  your  encampments,  distend- 
ing my  little  book  into  the  very  respectable  volume  you  have 
here. 

In  the  course  of  this  ethnologic  voyage  along  your  confedera- 
tion, which  is  all  frontier,  I  have  appreciated  the  urbanity  of 
your  manners  and  the  agreeableness  of  your  occupation;  to  the 
young  I  have  listened  in  all  the  ardour  and  spirit  of  their  book- 
hunting  theories,  and  to  the  precious  memories  and  edifying 
tropologv  of  your  veterans  I  have  paid  extreme  attention.  I 
have  been  told  of  your  rather  too  legendary  intemperance,  I  can 
only  testify  to  your  Spartan  sobriety  at  the  hour  of  the  frugal 
open-air  repast  prepared  by  your  housekeepers. 

I  have  seen  only  the  deceptive  frontage  of  your  morality,  but 
I  will  never  consent  to  be  convinced  of  err  or,  for  in  your  humble 
condition,  assailed  by  the  needs  of  an  existence  often  cruel  and 
always  precarious,  soaked,  chilled,  in  as  bad  a  plight  as  your 
wares,  your  weaknesses  would  merit  absolution  in  virtue  of  the 
highest  principles  and  the  most  indulgent  theology* 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


Ye  bookstall- keepers,  fay  friends,  receive,  then,  this  work  when 
it  comes  to  you  seeking  shelter,  aid,  and  protection  ;  it  is  perhaps 
the  only  opuscule  that  has  ever  been  collectively  dedicated  to  you  in 
all  equity  and  logic,  but  I  do  not  despair  of  seeing  my  example 
followed  by  the  wise  when  they  are  no  longer  ignorant  that 
among  you  glory  ever  leaves  its  wounded.  And,  then,  is -it  not 
to  live  once  more,  this  wandering  in  your  boxes  in  broad  day- 
light beneath  the  more  or  less  veiled  gaiety  of  the  sky,  wearied 
by  the  wear  and  tear  of  life,  cut,  torn,  consulted,  read,  taken  up 
again,  read  again,  useful  to  all,  and  almost  proud  of  ones 
wounds  ?  Surely  that  is  better  than  to  sleep  embalmed  in  gilded 
morocco,  covered  with  interlacing  in  some  richly  glazed  book- 
case, intact  and  unread,  a  virgin  still,  and  respected  by  the 
boastful  chastity  of  some  bibliophilic  Joseph. 

Amid  the  phalanstery  of  your  stalls,  books  exchange  no 
dialogues  of  the  dead- :  they  await  the  last  judgments  of  the 
living  in  a  social  and  confraternal  confusion  worthy  of  the 
parables  of  Scripture;  they  are  forgiving  to  the  eye  of  the 
lounger,  and  confident  in  the  just  curiosity  of  the  public.  Come, 
then,  my  friends,  give  me  a  welcome  on  your  quays,  on  your 
walls  of  solid  granite  where  the  Seine  seems  to  rustle  her 
glaucous  robes  of  silk  ;  I  shall  be  more  at  my  ease  lying  on  the 
bare  stone  of  your  parapets  in  the  growing  turbulence  and  frenzy 
of  the  great  city  and  transient  agitation  of  the  quays  than  in  the 
ebony  necropolis  of  the  wealthiest  libraries. 

Soiled  by  the  dust  of  the  wind,  stained  by  the  rain,  hori- 
zontally spread  out  at  a  deduction,  I  will  give  vent,  as  Job  did, 
to  the  expression  of  the  most  beautiful  humanitarian  philosophy, 
that  which  shows  the  emptiness  of  all  things,  of  the  petals  of  the 
roses  as  of  the  leaves  of  the  laurel,  the  vanity  of  effigies,  of 
medals,  of  crowns,  of  reputations,  of  glory,  and  the  utter  vanity 
of  rarity,  which  is  oftenest  but  ephemeral,  and  dependent  only  on 
the  world's  folly  and  inconstancy. 

The  history  of  all  literatures  is  made  up  of  successive  evolu- 


EPISTLE  DEDICATORY 


tiom  and  unexpected  revolutions,  and  the  sight  of  so  many  miles 
of  books,  written  in  part  by  defimct  celebrities,  is  no  less  eloquent 
to  our  eyes,  and  appeals  perhaps  more  to  our  understanding,  than 
that  of  the  plant  which  grows  and  flourishes  on  the  half-ruined 
walls  of  ancient  and  mighty  Byzantium. 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN   PARIS 


A    PRELIMINARY    SAUNTER. 

ODIER,  an  illustrious  and  polymathic  book- 
hunter,  took  upon  himself  some  fifty  years 
ago  to  prophesy  the  end  of  bibliomania, 
and  the  death  of  the  second-hand  book- 
seller.     The  old   Parisian  gossip  thought 
that  this  great  social  catastrophe  was  one 
of  the  inevitable  results  of  progress,  and,  to  good  Litera- 
ture's mild  and  innocent  surprise,  he  added  that  it  and 
the  second-hand  bookseller  would  die  together. 

This  was  but  the  outburst  of  a  fretful  spirit ;  happily 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


nothing  dies,  though  everything  changes,  and  our  melan- 
choly dealers  in  waste-paper,  who  in  mouldy  rags  lay  out 
for  sale  on  the  quays  a  few  tattered  books,  are  as  worthy 
of  interest  from  different  points  of  view  as  the  famed  book- 
sellers of  the  old  guard  whose  praises  all  the  Marcos  de 
Saint  Hilaire  of  legendary  bibliography  have  so  pompously 
sung. 

Jules  Janin,  that  ventripotent  pensioner  of  success, 
accumulated,  in  a  work  entitled  Le  Livre,  all  the  rubbish 
of  his  pilfered  knowledge,  and  the  cock-and-bull  stories 
of  his  happy  superficiality,  and  shed  a  few  crocodile  tears 
over  the  disappearance  of  the  aged  stall-keeper  of  the  good 
old  times.  In  the  course  of  his  hypocritical  lamentations, 
the  worthy  J.  J.,  translator  of  Horace,  allowed  himself  to 
produce  a  sentimental  portrait  of  the  bookstall  man,  in 
the  manner  of  Ducray-Dumesnil,  which  ought  certainly 
to  have  found  a  place  on  some  fair  page  of  the  Musee  des 
Families. 

All  the  wrecks  of  the  romantic  period  have  more  or 
less,  in  different  ways,  chanted  the  glory  of  the  stall- 
keeper  of  the  Restoration  and  the  Monarchy  of  July ; 
they  have  vaunted  his  merits,  pictured  his  oddities, 
analyzed  his  tastes,  displayed  his  astuteness,  his  erudition, 
his  methods,  and  groaned  in  a  minor  key,  in  a  biblio- 
graphic dc  profundis,  '  Gone  is  the  bookstall  man  !  Gone 
are  the  twopenny  boxes  and  the  wonderful  finds  !  Gone 
are  the  incunabula  at  eighteenpence,  the  Verards  at  half 
a  crown,  and  the  original  editions  of  Moliere  at  one  and 
a  penny  ! 

'  No  more  on  to  the  quays  we'll  go  ; 
The  laurels  there  have  ceased  to  grow.' 

All  of  which,  in  my  opinion,  is  pure  delusion.  The  gene- 
rations which  grow  old  die  out,  all  of  them,  amid  this 
twaddle  concerning  the  pre-excellence  of  the  past,  and 
strum  forth  like  old  spinets  the  same  shrill  untrue  com- 


A  PRELIMINARY  SAUNTER 


plaints  as  to  the  good  time  of  their  youth.  In  those  days  ! 
Ah  !  that  is  the  magic  formula  for  the  man  who  clings 
to  what  he  has  lost.  In  the  north  pole  of  our  life  we 
delight  in  looking  back  on  the  warm  photosphere  of  our 
youth,  and  feel  by  reflection  the  ardours  of  maturity ;  all 
was  well,  all  was  good,  all  was  beautiful ;  and  so  dazzling 
is  this  parhelic  mirage,  so  powerful  is  this  moral  helio- 
tropism,  that  the  mind  turns  away  from  the  present  and 
condemns  it,  the  better  to  magnify  the  radiant  visions  of 
the  past. 

We  hear  nothing  of  eyes  growing  feeble,  of  ardours 
diminishing,  of  passions  thinning  out,  of  storms  being  no 
longer  braved  in  pursuit  of  the  truant  loves  of  these 
bookish  whims  ;  there  is  no  confession  of  the  fading  of 
flowery  enthusiasm,  of  the  failing  of  leafy  persistency, 
of  the  sap  flowing  less  freely  in  gouty  nodosities ; 
nothing  is  said  of  fashion,  that  mysterious  leader  of 
mind,  having  totally  shifted  the  compass  ;  but  a  slash 
is  made  at  the  whole  question,  darkness  is  declared 
to  be  invading  the  world,  there  is  now  nothing  but 
nothing,  a  cataclysm  has  come  over  us  ;  there  are  neither 
book-hunters,  nor  booksellers,  nor  books,  nor  literature, 
nor  legitimate  or  logical  zeal.  Of  course  there  are  no 
longer  the  books  along,  all  along,  the  river-side,  the  books 
that  were  sought  for  by  our  fathers  and  the  worthy  philo- 
logues  of  the  exalted  school  of  Charles  Nodier  or  Gabriel 
Peignot.  Of  course  there  are  no  longer  Aldines,  nor 
Caxtons,  nor  Antoine  Verards,  nor  Simons  de  Colines, 
nor  Robert  Estiennes,  nor  Michel  vas  Cosans,  nor 
Cryphiuses,  nor  Elzevirs  in  good  condition,  and  it  is  only 
occasionally  that  you  will  come  across  Barbous,  Con- 
stelliers,  Guerins,  Latours,  and  choice  Didots  ;  Basker- 
villes,  Bodonis,  Brindleys,  Foulises,  Tonsons,  and 
Martynses  are  not  often  to  be  met  with ;  the  works 
that  mark  the  richest  glories  of  typography  have  had 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


their  day  on  the  parapets,  and  it  would  be  a  miracle  to 
light  upon  a  remarkable  example  of  one  of  their  ancient 
houses.  But,  then,  the  book-hunters  have  multiplied  ;  since 
the  beginning  of  the  century  generations  of  peripatetic 
rummagers  have  succeeded  each  other  on  the  bookstall 
ranges,  and  millions  of  travellers  have  loitered  by  the 
thread  of  water,  their  souls  radiant  with  discoveries,  their 
spirits  enraptured  by  happy  meetings  in  the  dusty  boxes. 

All  things  pass  away  and  all  things  wear  out  !  The 
books  consecrated  by  human  admiration,  or  by  specu- 
lators attracted  by  their  rarity,  are  gradually  absorbed 
into  the  great  libraries  after  a  temporary  vagabondage. 
All  the  veterans  of  renown,  puffed,  praised,  and  some- 
times overrated,  no  longer  lodge  in  the  starlight ;  that  is 
logical,  for,  in  the  bibliophilic  gospel,  happy  are  the  books 
which  have  suffered  much  and  awaited — the  kingdom  of 
morocco  which  will  receive  them,  the  gold  which  will 
adorn  them,  the  buyers  who  will  outbid  each  other  to 
have  them.  That  is  the  way  of  the  world,  and  thus 
justice  is  eventually  done  to  the  noble,  powerful,  and 
gentle  writers  of  the  four  last  centuries  of  our  literature. 

But  is  that  any  reason  why  the  second-hand  bookseller 
should  die  ?  Certainly  not :  he  lives  more  than  ever,  he 
expands,  he  extends  to  the  east  and  to  the  west,  he 
assumes  a  new  skin  ;  he  is  no  longer  the  ancient  of 
yesterday,  he  is  the  modern  of  to-day,  the  Grand  Vendor 
of  the  temple  of  this  too  productive  nineteenth  century, 
whose  inventory  is  nearly  complete,  and  the  aurora  of 
whose  glory  will  not  be  apparent  until  the  lapse  of  thirty 
or  forty  years.  Amid  all  the  lumber  of  the  quays  the 
bookstall-keeper  of  to-day  has  thousands  of  rarities  which 
are  still  in  the  chrysalis  stage  of  their  evolution  towards 
curiosity,  and  which  to-morrow  perhaps  may  bring  to  the 
light  by  the  dawning  history  of  the  time  or  by  the  sudden 
eccentricity  of  events. 


A  PRELIMINARY  SAUNTER 


The  nineteenth  century  will  not  only  have  to  reckon 
with  the  book,  but  with  the  pamphlet,  with  the  journal, 
with  the  handbill,  and  with  the  innumerable  still-born 
offspring  of  the  periodical  press — of  the  new  schools  and 
of  celebrities  in  embryo.  Among  the  heaps  of  opuscula, 
the  pioneers  are  already  beginning  to  pick  and  choose, 
for  soon  the  hour  will  strike  in  which  romanticomania 
will  no  longer  alone  engross  attention,  and  in  which  many 
forgotten  or  despised  works  will  also  be  sought  after. 
The  quays  will  for  a  long  time  yet  afford  food  for  the 
passions,  and  if  book-lovers  no  longer  meet  with  the 
lucky  finds  of  which  they  have  so  often  complacently 
related  the  surprises  and  the  wonders,  they  will  at  least 
supply  the  loungers  with  a  few  transient  fancies  and  docu- 
mentary discoveries  of  which  our  public  libraries  have  not 
yet  revealed  the  existence. 

The  stall-keepers'  boxes,  although  they  may  be  ransacked, 
turned  topsy-turvy,  and  drained,  so  to  speak,  by  every 
library  bloodhound  of  luxury  and  fashion,  still  contain 
valuable  curiosities  which,  escaping  the  vigilant  but  super- 
ficial eye  of  the  astutest  bibliopole,  fail  to  escape  the 
really  learned  man,  the  historian  of  literature,  the 
enlightened  seeker  who  infallibly  pounces  on  some  unique 
envoi,  some  precious  note,  of  which  he  alone  understands 
all  the  originality,  and  can  alone  estimate  the  incompar- 
able value. 

As  to  the  bookstall  man  himself,  he  is  still  in  his 
manner  and  varied  type  the  worthy  descendant  of  those 
fantastic  compeers  the  physical  and  mental  impression 
of  whom  the  philologists  of  the  first  half  of  this  century 
were  so  eager  to  reproduce  for  us  with  such  a  wealth  of 
verbiage.  According  to  their  temperaments,  they  are  the 
same  eccentric,  wrong-headed  maniacs,  the  same  good- 
natured  philosophers,  the  same  poor,  ignorant  boobies, 
the  same  humble  and  surprising  scholars. 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


Along  the  Paris  quays,  from  the  Pont  Royal  even  to  the 
Pont  Notre  Dame,  there  are  samples  of  all  kinds,  with 
their  well-marked  characters,  their  irregular  gait,  their 
incoherent  assortments  ;  they  have  their  common  customs, 
their  brotherly  feelings,  and  their  furious  rivalries.  In 
the  great  bookselling  monomial  of  the  parapets  on 
the  left  bank  they  stand  elbow  to  elbow  and  strive 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  helping  each  other,  tormenting  each 
other,  forming  a  republic,  of  which  the  three  eldest  have 
been  for  some  years  contending  for  the  presidency  by 
priority  of  age  or  stage  ;  in  a  word,  here  is  a  lengthy 
ribbon  of  humanity,  neither  better  nor  worse,  unrolled 
along  the  very  cradle  of  the  only  and  true  great  Paris  of 
art  and  history. 

It  is  curious  to  remark  that  all  this  changing,  wander- 
ing, and  picturesque  population  has  never  possessed  the 
special  ethnology  to  which  it  is  entitled.  A  few  travellers 
like  Fontaine  de  Resbecq  have  set  out  at  a  lively  step  for 
this  land  of  bookstalls ;  but  attracted  by  the  Babel  of 
inked  paper,  they  have  plunged  their  spectacles  into  the 
twopenny  boxes,  and,  without  seeing  what  is  going  on 
around  them,  have  gathered  from  their  peregrinations  a 
sort  of  course  of  literature  enough  to  give  a  headache  to 
every  grandchild  of  the  wearisome  La  Harpe. 

De  Resbecq  undertook  his  Voyages  litteraires  sur  les 
Quais  de  Paris  in  1857.  He  arrived  at  a  propitious  hour, 
amid  a  world  still  unexplored,  before  the  invention  of 
Mouches,  Guepes,  and  Hirondelks,  in  a  quarter  then  rela- 
tively peaceable,  in  which  he  was  at  leisure  to  bring  his 
glasses  to  bear  with  as  much  candour  as  good  Monsieur 
Jouy,  I'Hermite,  and  all  the  Guyanes  of  all  the  Chaussees 
d'Antin ;  he  had  before  him  a  crowd  of  bookstall  men, 
'  veterans  of  '48,'  who  were  worthy  of  being  sketched,  for 
the  benefit  of  posterity,  in  a  few  strokes  of  the  pen. 
Paris  had  not  quite  finished  its  grand  Hausmannesque 


A  PRELIMINARY  SAUNTER 


toilette,  and  the  moment  could  not  have  been  better ;  but 
I  must  say,  at  the  risk  of  his  thinking  me  offensive,  if  he 
is  still  alive,  that  M.  de  Resbecq,  who  was  no  half-pedant, 
had  not  the  slightest  notion  of  the  suggestions  of  the 
ambient  air,  and  the  grouping  of  men  and  things.  He 
scheduled  the  spirit  of  the  old  books  in  soporific  prose  ; 
he  wrote  the  Provinciales  of  second-hand  bookselling  with 
an  arid  and  quite  unattractive  Jansenism.  Never  did  so 
charming  a  title  as  he  adopted  cover  such  heavy  mer- 
chandise, and  this  Voyage  litteraire  sur  les  Quais  dc  Paris 
seemed  to  begin  in  a  lumber-room  of  imperfect  books, 
and  end  in  an  empty  cellar,  where  the  terrified  reader 
struggles  against  the  disquieting  coma  which  overcomes 
him. 

With  the  exception  of  this  book,  and  a  few  others  with 
equally  misleading  titles,  there  is  not,  to  my  knowledge, 
any  complete  monograph  in  the  serious  vein,  or  in  the 
picturesque,  or  the  pleasing,  on  the  Paris  quays  and  the 
minor  bookselling  world.  There  are  articles  here  and 
there,  short,  instantaneous  studies,  scattered  over  the 
four  winds  of  the  periodical  press  ;  but  the  subject  as  a 
whole  and  in  its  varied  shades  of  detail  is  waiting  for 
treatment.  I  have  overhauled  the  libraries,  toiled  through 
catalogues,  shaken  the  dust  from  the  Journal  de  la 
Librairie  from  the  year  of  its  foundation  in  the  palmy 
days  of  the  First  Empire  ;  I  have  rummaged  everywhere, 
and  even  put  under  contribution  the  memories  of  our 
most  amiable  and  aged  learned  men ;  nothing — nothing 
exists  concerning  the  quays  of  the  capital  from  a  book- 
stall point  of  view. 

I  can  thus  legitimately  claim  that  mine  is  a  book  that 
remained  to  be  written,  and  that  it  contains  no  less  ob- 
servation than  research.  The  voyage  was  an  easy  one  to 
undertake.  From  my  lodgings  1  could  see  from  the  Pont 
Royal  to  the  Pont  des  Arts — that  long  array  of  stalls 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


that  border  the  Seine,  and  which  the  curiosity  of  the 
loungers  is  passing  under  review  from  morn  to  eve  ;  this 
picture,  that  is  always  within  my  view,  I  have  had  but  to 
give  life  to  ;  I  have  had  but  to  awake  its  historic  tra- 
dition, to  analyze  it  under  its  different  moods,  and  to  set 
forth  the  legends  of  the  personages  who  compose  it  in 
its  strange  homogeneity.  The  task  was  relatively  easy  : 
interesting  saunters  about  men  and  books,  much  gossip, 
miscellaneous  observations,  remarks  and  notes,  mixed, 
infused,  refined,  and  the  work  was  done. 

The  bookstall  man  is  naturally  loquacious,  the  book- 
hunter  by  profession  is  no  less  so ;  one  delights  in  the 
story  of  his  miseries  and  in  tittle-tattle  about  his  neigh- 
bouring rivals,  the  other  will  talk  for  ever  on  his  im- 
pressions and  adventures  along  the  parapets,  which  are, 
so  to  speak,  arrayed  with  opportunities.  The  first,  mis- 
trustful to  begin  with,  soon  becomes  familiar  enough  if  it 
is  a  matter  of  talking  about  his  neighbours  ;  the  second  has 
as  many  stories  in  his  bag  as  the  best  shot  in  Gascony, 
and,  according  to  his  own  account,  has  by  scent  alone 
started  some  of  the  very  finest  hares  by  skilful  ferretings 
in  well-chosen  corners.  Hence  it  happens  that  by  listen- 
ing to  booksellers  and  book-hunters  one  can  gather  not 
only  enough  for  a  book,  but  for  a  whole  library  on 
Bouquinomaniana,  in  which  M.  de  Krack  would  have 
a  share. 

In  this  excursion  amongst  the  curious  I  have,  above  all, 
endeavoured  to  make  the  book  useful,  and  to  restrict 
myself  to  the  general  physiology  of  the  subject,  as  re- 
gards the  scenery  and  dramatis  persona.  I  have  chosen 
to  be  more  of  a  Topffer  than  a  Baedeker,  more  of  a 
voyager  in  zigzag  than  a  guide  in  the  odious  aridity  of 
the  word,  keeping  my  travelling  companions  as  clear 
from  fog  as  from  drought. 

But   all   the    same,    this    book    passed    through   very 


A  PRELIMINARY  SAUNTER 


numerous  vicissitudes  before  it  came  to  the  light  of  day. 
Planned  towards  the  end  of  1886,  and  announced  for 
April,  1887,  it  was  delayed  from  season  to  season  for  six 
consecutive  years. 

A  part  of  the  text  was  in  type  as  far  back  as  March. 
1887,  and  the  printing  was  going  on  as  fast  as  I  delivered 
the  copy  to  the  compositors,  according  to  my  labours  of 
the  day  or  night,  when,  owing  to  I  know  not  what  adven- 
ture or  whim,  I  struck  work  on  a  certain  spring  morning, 
as  the  sun  was  making  life  flourish  once  more,  and  love 
was  singing  in  every  nest.  I  abandoned  this  book,  which 
promised  to  be  so  successful,  at  an  epoch  when  biblio- 
philism  still  prospered,  and  beautiful  books  made  as 
many  conquests  as  beautiful  women.  Three-quarters  of 
the  edition  had  already  been  subscribed,  and  I  had  every 
intention  of  resuming  this  physiology  of  the  Paris  quays 
during  the  forthcoming  summer  ;  but  fate,  ever  stronger 
than  will,  decided  otherwise. 

For  six  years  I  sulked  in  vexation  over  the  dusty  papers 
which  contained  my  notes  and  documents ;  I  felt  myself 
incapable  of  continuing  a  book  for  which  I  no  longer  flamed 
with  the  enthusiasm  I  had  done  in  the  happy  days  in 
which  I  had  undertaken  it.  In  a  word,  it  seemed  to  me 
as  difficult,  as  painful,  as  troublesome  to  bring  this  wreck 
of  a  book  to  life  as  to  raise  a  boat  that  for  a  long  time 
has  been  sunk  in  the  vertiginous  and  discouraging  depths 
of  an  ocean  of  oblivion. 

But  this  unfinished  volume  stopped  the  way ;  it  spoilt 
the  prospect  of  new  plans,  and  rather  discredited  the 
good  faith  of  the  promises  made  to  an  important  circle  of 
amateurs  and  the  learned.  It  became  necessary,  at 
whatever  cost,  to  resume  our  task,  and  at  the  end  of  this 
year,  1892,  with  the  aid  of  a  devoted,  assiduous,  and  un- 
assuming friend,  a  valued  contributor  to  our  different 
reviews,  M.  B.-H.  Gausseron  —  whose  merit  readers 


io  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

know,  and  whose  talent  they  appreciate — it  has  been 
possible  to  get  a  fresh  start  with  the  chariot  that  had 
stuck  in  the  mud,  and  drive  it  along  the  towpath  of  book- 
stall curiosity  on  the  Seine  quays. 

I  must  also  mention  in  equally  high  terms,  in  this 
order  of  the  day  regarding  the  rescue,  M.  Gustave 
Boucher,  ex-Bouquiniste  es  lettres,  a  youthful,  learned,  and 
experienced  lawyer,  whose  extensive  information  has 
been  most  useful  to  us,  and  whose  notes  have  been  no 
less  valuable  in  the  resumption  of  this  book. 

Since  1886,  in  fact,  very  great  changes  have  taken  place 
in  the  bookstall  world,  who,  owing  to  the  permanence 
of  their  boxes,  the  almost  comfortable  elegance  of  their 
installations  firmly  anchored  to  the  stones  of  the  para- 
pets, have  become  tradesmen  of  repute,  less  picturesque 
in  that  they  have  no  longer  that  spice  of  Bohemianism 
and  independence  due  to  their  former  temporary  encamp- 
ment. 

Three  of  their  oldest  representatives  have  disappeared. 
In  six  years  what  transformations  ! 

Be  it  as  it  may,  the  work,  a  little  less  homogeneous 
than  I  had  dreamed,  with  its  engravings  of  the  past  and 
its  portraits  of  to-day,  will,  I  doubt  not,  give  satisfaction 
by  reason  of  the  numerous  facts  it  contains  in  a  form 
which  I  trust  is  not  too  pedantic  or  pretentious. 

It  will  be,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  the  only  work  on  the 
quays  of  Paris  bookstalls  which  in  a  light  and  airy 
manner  will  sketch  the  men  of  interest  of  five  or  six 
generations. 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA. 


( 


RESEARCHES    REGARDING   THE    SECOND-HAND    BOOK- 
SELLERS   OF   THE    PAST. 

JNQUIRERS  going  back  to  antiquity  as 
well  equipped  with  erudition  as  with 
patience  and  leisure  would  find  it  possible 
to  discover  and  describe  the  life  of  the 
open-air  second-hand  bookseller.  Among 
the  Romans  we  have  the  bookstalls 
beneath  the  rows  of  porticos  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Forum  alongside  those  of  the  dealers  in  jewellery, 
pictures  and  amulets.  Philosophers  came  to  talk  under 
these  peridromes ;  authors  there  recited  their  works ; 


12  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

walkers  there  took  shelter  when  the  weather  was  in- 
clement. The  booksellers  who  came  there  in  free 
competition  to  display  their  scrinia,  which  were  round 
boxes  something  like  those  of  our  wafer-sellers,  were 
assured  of  meeting  among  the  passers-by  with  numerous 
customers  for  their  second-hand  cylindrical  manuscripts. 
These  were  to  be  seen  all  over  Rome,  along  the  Tiber 
and  the  main  streets  ;  book-hunters  assiduously  frequented 
these  cheap  stalls,  seeking  chiefly  for  books  received  from 
Macedonia  and  every  part  of  the  Levant. 

Aulus  Gellius,  in  the  fourth  chapter  of  the  ninth  book  of 
his  Attic  Nights,  relates  that  landing  at  Brindisi  on  his 
return  from  Greece  to  Italy  he  found  at  a  bookstall  a 
remarkable  opportunity  for  enriching  his  library  without 
undue  impoverishment  of  his  purse. 

'  I  was  walking,'  he  says,  '  after  leaving  the  ship  at  this 
famous  port,  when  I  noticed  a  bookstall.  Immediately, 
with  the  eagerness  of  a  book-lover,  I  ran  to  examine  it. 
There  was  a  collection  of  Greek  books,  full  of  fables, 
prodigies,  strange  and  incredible  narratives ;  the  authors 
were  old  writers  whose  names  are  of  but  mediocre 
authority  ;  I  found  there  Aristseus  of  Proconesus, 
Isigonos  of  Nicsea,  Ctesias,  Onesicritus,  Polystephanus, 
Hegesias  and  others.  These  books,  much  dilapidated 
and  covered  with  ancient  dust,  looked  wretched  enough, 
but  I  asked  the  price  of  them.  Its  unexpected  reason- 
ableness led  me  at  once  to  purchase  them,  and  I  carried 
away  a  great  number  of  volumes,  which  I  looked  through 
during  the  two  following  nights.' 

The  Roman  booksellers  found  no  difficulty  in  finding  a 
supply  ;  the  multiplication  of  books  was  already  such  that 
poets  like  Sammonicus  Serenus,  grammarians  like 
Epaphrodites  of  Chaeronea,  who  lived  a  little  after  the 
reign  of  Nero,  were  able  to  form  private  libraries  of  more 
than  fifty  thousand  volumes.  The  copyists  daily  put 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA 


incredible  quantities  in  circulation,  and  on  the  other 
hand  the  booty  gained  in  the  different  conquests  brought 
into  the  market  works  from  all  sources  which  almost  in- 
variably found  their  way  to  the  second-hand  stalls. 

The  taste  for  books  was  very  keen  ;  the  library  became 
the  soul  of  the  house  ;  and  this  passion  for  reading  is 
mentioned  by  Cicero,  Cato,  Pollio,  Varro,  Seneca  and 


Pliny.  Bibliomaniacs  by  instinct  or  fashion  swarmed  in 
Rome,  and  the  outdoor  booksellers  were  as  prosperous  as 
those  who  kept  regular  shops.  Enthusiasts  endeavoured 
to  collect  not  only  manuscripts  in  rolls,  autographic  when 
possible,  but  also  works  on  parchment  or  papyrus, 
volumes  on  linen,  treaties  or  annals,  writings  on  leather, 
of  which  mention  is  made  by  Ulpian,  books  of  wood  or 
tablets,  the  waxed  polyptychs  of  which  Pliny  speaks,  ami 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


also  those  Libri  elephantini  which  according  to  Turnebus 
were  written  on  plates  of  ivory,  and  according  to  Scaliger 
were  made  of  the  intestines  of  elephants.  The  bibliophiles 
of  ancient  Rome  found  few  of  these  books  of  so  many 
varieties,  except  among  the  stall-keepers  of  the  Tiber  or 
the  porticos,  mere  wandering  and  occasional  dealers, 


whose  stock-in-trade  contained  a  thousand  surprises  for 
collectors  and  enlightened  philosophers. 

After  the  decline  of  the  Roman  Empire  the  bookstall- 
keeper  seems  to  have  been  overwhelmed  by  the  invasions 
of  the  barbarians.  Religious  quarrels,  civil  wars,  schisms, 
the  dust  of  the  many  ruins,  allow  us  no  glimpse  of  the 
bookstall  man  amid  the  confusion  of  the  Middle  Ages  ; 
the  whole  system  of  manners  and  laws  seems  to  have 
been  opposed  to  his  independent  existence  in  those 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA 


troublous  times  ;  the  popularization  of  the  written 
thought  had  ceased,  only  oral  tradition  was  spread 
among  the  crowd,  and  it  might  be  said  that  the  Trouvere 
had  replaced  the  wandering  dealer  in  ancient  literature. 

The  price  of  manuscripts,  too,  had  become  so  high 
even  for  exoteric  books,  and  the  trade  in  them  so  full  of 
danger,  that  it  was  necessary  to  be  a  royal  bookseller, 
duly  patented,  to  have  the  right  to  sell  those  marvels  of 


the  graphic  art  of  which  the  monasteries  had,  so  to  speak, 
the  specialty. 

After  the  invention  of  printing,  which,  as  Peignot 
remarks,  would  appear  to  have  taken  as  a  motto  the 
Crcscit  eundo  of  the  sun's  career,  the  whole  face  of  society 
changed.  A  song  of  gladness  welcomed  this  great 
discovery  which  was  at  last  to  give  to  all  the  possibility 
of  becoming  acquainted  with  the  works  of  the  ancients  as 
well  as  of  the  moderns. 

Jehan  Molinet  recorded  in  his  writings  this  triumphant 
conquest  of  his  century  : 


i6 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


'  J'ai  vu  grand  multitude 
De  livres  imprimez, 
Pour  tirer  en  estude 
Povres  mal  argente's 
Par  ces  novellas  modes 
Aura  maint  escolier, 
Ddcrets,  Bibles  et  Cordes 
Sans  grand  argent  bailler.' 

Printed  books  were  very  quickly  spread  all  over  Europe, 
and  less  than  a  century  after   the  general  adoption  of 


Gutenberg's  methods  the  sage  Erasmus  uttered  his 
protest  against  the  superabundance  of  the  issues  from 
the  press. 

'  Printers,'  he  wrote,  '  are  filling  the  world  with  little 
books,  which  I  cannot  say  are  as  useless  as  it  has  pleased 
me  to  publish,  but  works  that  are  ignorant,  slanderous, 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  17 


defamatory,  maniacal,  impious  and  seditious ;  their 
multitude  hinders  any  profit  there  might  be  in  reading 
good  books.  Some  of  these  books  appear  without  a  title, 
or,  what  is  even  more  wicked,  under  fictitious  titles.  If 
the  printer  is  discovered  and  arrested  he  usually  replies, 
"  If  they  will  give  me  enough  to  keep  my  family  I  will 
stop  printing  such  books.'" 

With  the  profusion  of  books  the  second-hand  bookseller 
put  in  an  appearance  about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  In  the  shops  in  the  lanes  of  old  Paris  a  large 
number  of  dealers  in  second-hand  books  established 
themselves.  The  word  bouquin  now  applied  to  such 
books  did  not  then  exist,  or  wras  little  used  in  the  sense  it 
received  to\vards  the  close  of  the  last  century  ;  it  was  at 
the  time  of  our  great  trade  in  books  with  Flanders  and 
Holland  that  France  imported  this  characteristic  name, 
which  reminds  one  of  the  musty  smell  of  goat  or  calf 
skin.  The  Dutch  used  the  word  Boekin,  meaning  a  little 
book,  derived  from  the  German  Buck,  a  book,  which 
was  derived  in  its  turn  from  the  Sanskrit  pac,  to  bind 
or  tie. 

It  was  not,  in  fact,  until  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth 
century  that  the  Pont  Neuf  began  to  be  devoted  to  the 
sale  of  small  wares,  and  we  are  able  to  recognise  the  real 
ancestor  of  the  modern  stall-keeper.  On  this  famous 
Pont  Neuf,  so  well  represented  by  Callot  and  described  by 
Colletet,  among  beggars,  mountebanks,  street  singers, 
pickpockets,  idlers  of  quality,  poets  and  ruffians,  dealers 
in  books  and  sellers  of  Gazettes  had  taken  their  places  not 
far  from  the  ballad-mongers.  This  was  the  true  market 
of  the  printed  thought ;  in  those  little  shops  of  the  Pont 
Neuf  a  brisk  trade  was  done  in  pamphlets,  little  books, 
old  books  and  new. 

'  This  famous  bridge  was  not  content  at  being  the  most 
varied  and  gigantic  of  outdoor  sights,'  says  Edouard 


1 8  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


Fournier,  in  his  huge  historic  monograph  on  the  Pont 
Neuf;*  'it  was  the  largest  of  reading-rooms,  not  only 
by  reason  of  the  gazettes  and  lampoons  that  were  sold 
there,  but  on  account  of  the  books  which  were  there 
found  in  multitudes,  and  lay  on  the  two  long  parapets 
which  stretched  across  the  river  like  rows  of  shelves  in 
some  immense  library.' 

In  short,  the  booksellers  swarmed  on  this  great  bridge, 
the  first  stone  of  which  was  laid  by  Henry  III.  It  was  a 
book  hospital,  where  the  unsold  of  Sercy,  Courbe,  and 
Barbin  (large  publishers  in  the  Galerie  du  Palais,  near 
the  Sainte  Chapelle  steps)  came  to  piteous  wreck,  and 
implored  the  commiseration  of  the  public.  Boileau,  in 
his  ninth  satire,  speaking  of  the  ephemeral  success  of 
certain  authors  of  the  day,  describes  the  Pont  Neuf  as  a 
Montfaucon  of  books  banished  by  the  retroactive  justice 
of  men  : 

'  Vous  pourriez  voir  tin  temps  vos  ecrits  estime's 
Courir  de  main  en  main,  par  la  ville  semes, 
Puis  de  Ik,  tout  poudreux,  ignores  sur  la  terre, 
Suivre  chez  1'epicier  Neuf-Germain  et  la  Serre, 
Ou  de  trente  feuillets,  reduits  peut  etre  a  neuf, 
Parer,  demi-ronge's,  les  rebords  du  Pont-Neuf.' 

Furetiere  is  hardly  more  complimentary  to  the  biblio- 
polic  merchandise  of  the  parapets,  when  in  his  Roman 
Bourgeois  he  makes  us  see  his  pedant  going  on  the  Pont 
Neuf  in  search  of  the  shabbiest  books,  with  torn  covers 
and  dog's-eared  leaves  ;  '  Such  books,'  he  adds,  '  being 
those  he  believed  to  be  of  the  greatest  antiquity.' 

Furetiere  is  somewhat  hard  on  his  own  times  in  this 
fugitive  note.  On  the  Pont  Neuf  in  those  days  there 
must  have  been  books  which  to-day  would  be  the  pride 
of  the  noblest  libraries ;  above  all,  there  were  the 

*  Histoire  du  Pont-Neuf,  par  Edouard  Fournier,  Paris,  Dentu,  1862, 
2  vols.,  I2mo. 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA 


romances  in  the  chivalric  style,  and  about  1643  there 
appeared  (s.  1.  n.  d.,  4°)  a  ballet  in  eighteen  figures,  which 
had  a  great  run  under  the  title  of  Le  Libraire  du  Pont- 
Ncnf,  on  les  Romans.  Amadis  was  therein  made  to  dance 
with  the  Illustre  Bassa  of  Scudery,  and  Don  Quixote  there 
figured  in  company  with  the  Amants  volages.  The  out 


c-*» 

: 

i .  ,'.' 

•r:-£t£  -i        ^-^4 


door  trade  in  books  became  even  exceedingly  lucrative, 
for  it  evoked  the  jealousy  of  the  large  Paris  booksellers, 
who,  as  if  the  privileges  in  which  Messieurs  du  Palais 
rejoiced  were  not  enough,  combined  to  set  the  law  in 
motion  against  the  poor  stall-keepers,  although  a  decree 
in  council  dated  January  30,  1619,  had  granted  them  a 
concession,  in  virtue  of  which  they  could  set  up  stalls  in 


20  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

the  open  air  from  the  Quai  de  1'Ecole  at  the  end  of  the 
Rue  de  1'Arbre-Sec  to  the  Rue  du  Trahoir. 

But,  as  always,  the  monopolists  gained  the  day,  and  in 
1649  there  appeared  an  edict  against  the  independent 
stall-keepers,  prohibiting  any  person  from  having  any 
portable  stall,  or  to  sell  any  books,  principally  on  the 
Pont  Neuf  and  its  environs,  on  pain  of  punishment  as 
common  malefactors,  besides  the  confiscation  of  their 
goods,  which  became  the  property  of  the  first  who  gave 
information  against  them  without  further  form  or  cere- 
mony. 

Saugrain,  who  mentions  this  first  persecution  of  the 
bookstall-keepers  in  his  Code  de  la  Librairie,  does  not 
forget  to  mention  the  admirable  preamble  of  this  decree, 
to  the  effect  that  '  it  is  necessary  to  restore  to  honour  the 
printing  and  book  trades,  and  to  suppress  whatever  tends 
to  their  debasement.' 

The  stall-keepers  protested,  and  the  sentence  was  de- 
layed for  more  than  a  year ;  for,  in  1650,  Gui  Patin 
wrote :  '  There  is  an  amusing  lawsuit  going  on  here 
among  the  booksellers.  The  syndic  obtained  a  new 
decree,  after  about  thirty  others,  by  which  it  is  forbidden 
for  anyone  to  sell  books,  or  expose  books  for  sale,  on  the 
Pont  Neuf.  This  he  published,  and  thereupon  turned 
out  about  fifty  booksellers  who  were  stationed  there,  who 
petitioned  to  be  allowed  to  come  back,  and  eventually 
obtained  a  respite  for  three  months,  during  which  they 
have  to  find  shops.' 

The  poor  stall-keepers  were  thus  sacrificed  at  the  very 
moment  that  the  Mazarinades  were  being  showered  on 
Paris.  Their  momentary  disappearance  caused  a  good 
many  regrets  to  all  students  and  lovers  of  literature.  A 
man  of  learning,  supposed  to  be  Baluze,*  expressed  him- 
self thus  in  sorrow  at  the  void  left  by  their  suppression  : 
*  Bibliotheque  de  V Ecole  des  Chartes,  2de  series,  vol.  v.,  p.  370. 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA 


21 


'  Formerly,'  said  he,  '  a  large  proportion  of  the  stalls 
on  the  Pont  Neuf  were  occupied  by  booksellers,  who 
had  very  good  books  at  moderate  prices,  which  was  a 
great  help  to  men  of  letters,  who  are  not  generally  over- 
burdened with  cash.  On  the  stalls  there  could  be  found 
little  treatises  not  often  met  with ;  others,  better  known, 
but  which  were  not  worth  asking  for  at  the  bookshops, 
and  which  were  only  bought  because  they  were  cheap; 
and  likewise  old  editions  of  ancient  authors  at  reasonable 


prices,  and  which  were  bought  by  the  poor  who  could  not 
afford  to  buy  new  ones. 

'  And  thus,'  concludes  Baluze,  whose  judgment  is  in 
complete  accord  with  our  present  ideas,  '  it  seems  to  me 
that  these  stalls  should  be  permitted,  as  much  for  the 
sake  of  the  poor  people  who  are  in  great  misery,  as  for 
the  benefit  of  the  men  of  letters,  who  have  always  had 
much  consideration  shown  them  in  France,  and  who 
have  no  longer  the  opportunity  of  obtaining  books 
cheap.' 

The  stall-keepers,  driven  from  the  Pont  Neuf  and  its 
environs,  took  to  hawking  books  about,  or  met  their 


22  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

difficulties  by  renting  small  shops,  in  which  they  were 
tolerated.  Nicolas  de  Blegny,  says  Abraham  du  Pradel, 
in  his  Livre  commode  des  A  dresses  de  Paris  for  1692,  gives 
some  valuable  information  about  the  book  trade  at  the 
close  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  enables  us  to  see 
the  Quais  as  then  peopled  by  bookstall-keepers  and 
dealers  in  Chinese  wares,  porcelain,  glass,  shells,  and 
other  curiosities  and  jewellery.  An  assortment  of  curious 
works  was  then  to  be  found  at  the  Sieur  Jourbert's,  Quai 
des  Augustins  ;  at  the  Widow  Nion's,  Quai  de  Nesles, 
where  began  the  famous  dynasty  of  Didot  ;  at  La  Bible 
d'or ;  the  finest  Heures  were  sold  by  the  Sieurs  Poirion 
and  Vaugon,  on  the  Pont  au  Change,  and  also  on  the 
Quai  de  Gesores  ;  ordinary  almanacs,  printed  at  Troyes, 
were  sold  by  the  Sieur  Raffle,  Rue  du  Petit  Pont ;  finally, 
library  books  and  old  books  and  rare  manuscripts 
generally  were  to  be  had  in  plenty  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Vieille  Boucherie  and  on  the  Quai  des  Augustins. 

The  rigour  of  the  decree  directed  against  the  stall- 
keepers  was  gradually  relaxed,  and  about  1670  many 
stalls  reappeared  on  the  Pont  Neuf  and  on  the  primitive 
parapets  of  the  Seine,  without  any  severity  being  exer- 
cised against  the  delinquents.  Mademoiselle  Cheron, 
one  of  the  heroines  of  the  Parnasse  des  Dames,  and  who 
was  poet,  painter,  musician,  and  engraver  all  at  one  time, 
brought  out  a  little  poem  in  three  cantos,  Les  Cerises 
renversees,  a  trifle  of  little  value,  but  which  enables  us  to 
discover  the  bookstall-keeper  encamped,  as  we  know 
him,  on  the  banks  of  the  charming  river,  dear  to  the 
sheep  of  Madame  Deshoulieres.  The  quotation  will  be 
long,  but  it  is  not  easy  to  condense  such  a  gossiping  piece 
of  work,  and  we  need  not  give  the  whole  of  it. 

In  the  third  canto  of  Cerises  renversees  Damon  is 
arranging  for  the  payment  of  the  damage  caused  by  two 
ladies,  whose  carriage  has  upset  a  load  of  cherries,  when 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  23 


a  pickpocket  adroitly  relieves  him  of  his  purse.  The 
people,  satisfied  at  this  feat,  set  free  the  carriage  they 
had  stopped  and  surround  Damon,  who,  finding  his 
pocket  empty,  confused  at  his  discomfiture,  and  seeing 
himself  exposed  to  the  anger  of  the  mob,  who  are 
hustling  on  to  him,  tries  to  get  clear  by  thrashing  out 
with  his  cane. 

'  II  se  bat  en  retraite,  et  gagnant  le  terrain, 
Minerve  a  reculons  le  conduit  par  la  main, 
II  attrape  le  Quai  :  la,  reside  un  Libraire, 
Des  nouveaute's  du  temps  riche  ddpositaire  ; 
Ou  y  voit  chaque  jour,  sur  les  bords  dtales, 
De  maint  et  maint  Auteur  les  titres  empoulds. 
C'est  la  que,  s'arretant  d'une  guerriera  audace, 
Damon  aux  plus  hardis  fait  deserter  la  place  ;  j 
La  deesse  Famine  en  ce  pressant  besoin, 
Guide  ses  coups,  les  pousse  et  de  pres  et  de  loin. 
Tel,  assailli  des  chiens,  lasse",  mis  hors  d'haleine, 
Est  un  fier  sanglier  accule  contre  un  chene, 
Qui,  rappelant  sa  force  en  ce  dernier  combat, 
A  grands  coups  de  defense  atteint,  ddchire,  abat  ; 
Ainsi  combat  Damon,  quand  la  fonte  imprudeme 
Renverse,  en  se  poussant,  la  boutique  savante. 
Deux  cents  volumes  neufs,  en  un  tas  ramasse"?, 
Du  parapet  dans  1'eau  se  trouvent  disperses  ; 
Vieux  et  nouveaux,  tout  tombe,  et  le  triste  libraire 
Voit  voltiger  en  1'air  sur  dernier  exemplaire. 

O  fortune  ennemie  !  ou  me  vois-je  reduit ! 
Jour  malheureux,  dit-il,  plutot  funeste  nuit  ! 
O  mes  galants  auteurs  abime"s  dans  la  Seine, 
Ecoutez  mes  regrets,  venez  finir  ma  peine  ! 
Auteurs  qui  du  bon  sens  renfermiez  les  tre'sors  ; 
Qui,  sortant  du  Palais,  veniez  parer  nos  bords, 
Pourquoi,  precipitds  jusques  au  fonde  de  1'onde, 
N'etes  vous  pas  tdmoins  de  ma  douleur  profonde  ! 
Quel  magique  pouvoir  dans  le  siccle  a  venir 
De  vos  noms  oublies  fera  ressouvenir  ? 

Thus    does   the    unfortunate    bookseller   lament   when 


24  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


Mercury,  who  is  book-hunting,  doubtless  for  something  to 
amuse  Jupiter,  hears  his  complaint,  and  before  starting 
for  Olympus,  experiences  the  pleasure  of  philosophically 
consoling  the  afflicted  bibliopole. 

*  Le  marchand  1'aperQoit  :  "  Favorable  Mercure, 
Equitable  te"moin  de  ma  triste  aventure, 
Cria-t-il,  tu  me  vois  accable  de  douleur  ; 
Si  jamais  des  marchands  tu  fus  le  protecteur, 
Sois  aujourd'hui  sensible  au  coup  qui  me  de"sole." 
Mercure,  gravement,  prend  alors  la  parole  : 
"  Je  sais  quelle  est  ta  perte  et  j'en  ai  du  regret, 
Mais  au  sort  ennemi  c'est  1'injuste  de'cret ; 
Ces  chefs-d'oeuvre  galants  dont  tu  pleures  1'absence 
Perissent  presque  tous  au  point  de  leur  naissance  ! 
Avortons,  malheureux,  dont  le  brillant  destin, 
Comme  aux  plus  belles  fleurs,  ne  dure  qu'un  matin. 
Va  done,  sans  frapper  1'air  de  tes  plaintes  funestes, 
De  tes  auteurs  noyes  pecher  les  tristes  restes. 
Descends.    Mais  qu'apergois-je  ?    O  prodige  nouveau  ! 
J'en  revois  quelques-uns  qui  reviennent  sur  1'eau, 
Le  nombre  en  est  petit  ;  vois-tu  comme  a  la  nage 
Au  favorable  vent  les  repousse  au  rivage  ? 
Le  reste  sous  les  flots  demeure  enseveli, 
Et  justement  merite  un  eternel  oubli. 
Mais  ne  t'afflige  point  d'une  perte  l^gere  ; 
Les  bons  sont  e'chappe's  j'y  fais  mettre  1'enchere  ; 
Meme  avant  que  la  lune  ait  montre"  son  croissant, 
Un  seul  pour  le  profit  t'en  vaudra  plus  de  cent.' 

This  poetic  fragment  abundantly  proves  that  the  book- 
stall-keepers displayed  in  the  open  air,  about  1670,  quite 
a  cargo  of  ancient  and  modern  works,  and  had  their 
stalls  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  at  the  Quai  de  1'Escole, 
Quai  de  Nesles,  Quai  des  Augustins,  or  Quai  Mai  a  Quay. 
The  stalls  were  primitive  enough  ;  the  books  were  laid 
out  on  planks  resting  on  trestles;  and  the  stall-keeper 
was  bold  enough  to  attack  the  passer-by  by  a  special  cry 
proclaiming  the  extreme  cheapness  of  his  wares. 

Books   were   already  so   numerous   that   it   was   only 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  25 

reasonable  for  them  to  overflow  into  the  streets  or  cross- 
ings, or  into  the  Seine.  According  to  contemporaries,  it 
would  have  been  impossible  to  read  all  that  was  printed, 
even,  they  added,  if  the  reader  were  built  on  the  plan 
that  Mahomet  gave  to  the  inhabitants  of  his  paradise, 
where  every  man  had  70,000  heads,  every  head  had 
70,000  mouths  and  eyes,  and  every  mouth  had  70,000 
tongues,  speaking  70,000  different  languages.  But  in  this 
heap  of  different  books,  what  prizes  there  then  were  in 
specimens  of  early  printing — Aldines  and  Elzevirs,  the 
whole  value  of  which  only  the  eighteenth  century  could 
appreciate. 

In  a  week's  walk  on  the  quays  and  the  neighbouring 
streets  the  enlightened  book-hunter  could  for  five  hundred 
jingling  shillings  secure  a  collection  of  the  rarest  works 
which  in  these  days  of  high  prices  would  not  change 
hands  for  as  many  sovereigns. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century  the  second- 
hand bookseller  inundated  Paris ;  everywhere,  on  the 
quays,  on  the  bridges,  at  all  the  cross  roads,  he  had  his 
temporary  shop.  Georg  Wallin,  the  Swede,  in  a  passage 
in  his  Lutetia  Parisiorum  erudita,*  an  account,  in  Latin,  of 
his  stay  in  Paris  in  1721  and  1722,  has  given  us  a  few 
curious  pages  for  the  history  of  the  trade  in  books  under 
the  Regency  of  Philippe  d'Orleans,  which  freely  rendered 
run  as  follows :  '  Regarding  those  booksellers  whom  I 
will  call  minorum  gentium  (as  it  was  the  custom  at  Rome 
to  call  the  patrician  families  not  dating  from  the  origin  of 
the  republic),  that  is  to  say  those  who  sold  books  more  of 
the  past  than  the  present,  under  temporary  shelters  on  all 
the  quays  of  the  Seine,  and  in  all  the  squares  and  open 
spaces,  I  do  not  speak,  and  their  number  I  cannot 

*  Lutetia  Parisiorum  erudita  sui  temporis,  hoc  est  annorum  hujus 
soeculi  xxi.  et  xxii.,  auctori  G.  W.  S.  (Georgio  Wallino  Sueco). 
Norimbergae,  anno  MDCCXXII.  12010. 


26 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


estimate.  I  say  nothing  of  the  amateur  booksellers 
(privates  bibliopolas)  who  trade  not  in  public  but  at  their 
own  houses.  When  I  arrived  in  Paris  there  was  yet 
another  kind  of  bookseller  quite  as  attractive  and  also 
never  in  want  of  customers.  On  tables,  on  planks,  placed 
in  the  street,  were  displayed  books  of  all  kinds,  and  the 
vendor  in  a  loud  voice  invited  the  bystanders  to  look  at 
them  and  buy  them.  I  have  still  ringing  in  my  ears  the 
words  which  I  so  often  heard  on  every  side  of  me :  Bon 


marche  !  Quatre  sols,  cinq  sols  la  piece  /  A  lions  !  vite  !  tonics 
sortes  de  livres  curieux !  I  was  astonished  that  they  could 
sell  at  so  low  a  price,  books  which  were  often  very  rare 
and  in  good  condition  (rariores  et  elegantes},  but  I  soon 
learnt  the  reasons  :  first,  this  sort  of  bookseller  has  no 
knowledge  of  books ;  second,  they  are  satisfied  with  a 
small  profit,  and  without  further  notice  they  sell  cheap 
what  they  have  bought  cheap ;  for  in  Paris  the  libraries 
of  people  who  die  are  not  always  sold  by  public  auction 
as  is  done  in  other  towns  ;  but  books  are  to  a  certain 
extent  sold  by  the  yard  to  those  who  will  take  them 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  27 

away.  A  short  time  afterwards,  however,  these  sales 
were  forbidden  by  the  authorities,  on  account  of  the 
abuses  to  which  they  gave  rise,  the  other  book-shops 
complaining  that  they  had  no  customers  (qucerentium 
solitudinem  ante  ostium).' 

Wallin  was  correctly  informed,  for  we  have  found 
under  date  October  20,  1721,  a  decree  of  his  Majesty, 
prohibiting  the  sale  of  books  on  stalls  on  pain  of  confisca- 
tion, fine  and  imprisonment.  We  by  chance  lighted 
upon  this  curious  original  document  at  a  bookstall  in  the 
Pres-Saint-Gervais,  and  we  give  it  here  complete. 

'  His  Majesty  being  informed  that  the  abuse  of  the 
freedom  in  the  printing  and  production  of  books  has 
attained  such  dimensions  that  all  sorts  of  writings,  on 
religion,  on  the  government  of  the  State,  and  against  the 
purity  of  morals,  printed  in  foreign  countries,  or  clandes- 
tinely, in  certain  towns  of  his  kingdom,  are  introduced  by 
indirect  and  secret  channels  into  his  good  town  of  Paris 
and  there  distributed  by  people  of  doubtful  reputation, 
who  hawk  them  round  to  private  houses,  in  the  inns,  the 
taverns,  the  coffee-houses  and  even  in  the  streets,  where 
they  are  sold  on  the  bookstalls  on  the  bridges,  quays, 
parapets,  cross-roads  and  public  places,  and  who  for  the 
better  concealment  of  their  evil  practices  pretend  to 
furnish  these  stalls  with  other  books  old  or  new,  most 
of  them  sold  and  stolen  by  children  and  servants  and 
received  by  the  stall-keepers,  who  wrell  know  them  to  be 
stolen  ;  and  that  this  abuse,  alike  prohibited  by  the  orders 
and  regulations  already  issued  regarding  the  trade  in 
books  and  printing  in  general,  has  made  such  progress 
that  the  persons  appointed  to  watch  over  it  are  unable  to 
arrest  it  or  to  put  in  force  the  powers  that  have  been 
entrusted  to  them  without  danger  to  their  life  by  the 
rebellion  and  violence  of  these  people,  who  are  supported 
by  the  day  labourers  on  the  quays  and  others  of  the 


28 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


populace.  For  which  it  being  necessary  to  provide,  his 
Majesty,  on  the  advice  of  Monsieur  le  Due  d'Orleans, 
Regent,  hereby  positively  prohibits  all  persons  from  in- 
troducing into  this  town  of  Paris,  by  surreptitious 
channels,  and  contrary  to  the  tenor  of  the  regulations 
established  for  the  admission  of  books,  any  printed 
matter  whatsoever  under  pain  of  the  aforesaid  regula- 
tions. All  persons,  including  booksellers  and  printers,  are 
prohibited  from  opening  any  bookstall  or  portable  book- 
shop on  the  bridges,  quays,  parapets,  cross-roads,  public 

squares,  and  other  places  in 
this  town  of  Paris,  even  in  the 
royal  and  privileged  houses, 
in  any  manner  and  on  any 
pretext  whatsoever,  on  pain  of 
a  fine  of  one  thousand  livres, 
confiscation  and  imprison- 
ment, and  even  of  exemplary 
punishment  should  the  case  so 
require  ;  and  to  all  freeholders, 
leaseholders,  hall  porters  and 
others  having  sites  to  let  for 
the  warehousing,  storing,  or 
otherwise  of  bookstalls,  or  per- 
mitting them  to  be  received 
into  their  houses  a  pain  of 
similar  penalties  and  of  answering  in  their  own  name 
and  at  their  own  cost  for  the  resultant  damages  accord- 
ing to  the  nature  of  the  books  and  the  requirements  of 
the  case. 

'  His  Majesty  hereby  prohibits  all  persons  of  whatever 
rank  or  condition  from  giving  assistance  to  the  said  stall- 
keepers  in  resisting  the  officers  of  police  and  others 
charged  with  the  discovery  of  the  said  stalls  on  peril  of 
being  punished  as  rebels  and  disturbers  of  the  public  order. 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA 


29 


'  His  Majesty  also  prohibits  all  soldiers  and  others  of 
every  station  from  carrying  for  sale  and  distribution 
books  or  printed  matter  of  any  description  in  private 
houses,  inns,  taverns,  coffee-houses  and  in  the  streets  on 
pain  of  imprisonment,  confiscation,  fines  and  other  severer 
penalties ;  and  he  also  prohibits  all  innkeepers,  tavern 
keepers  and  coffee-sellers  from  exposing,  distributing  or 
selling  any  of  the  said  books  or  pamphlets  in  their  houses 
and  shops  on  pain  of  having  to  answer  for  the  same  on 
their  own  responsibility,  of  the  withdrawal  of  their  free- 
dom and  other  penalties  according  to  the  exigency  of  the 
case. 

'  Booksellers  and  printers  are  also  prohibited  from 
having  in  their  shops  or  stores  anything  exceeding  the 
limits  prescribed  by  the  regulations,  as  also  from  exposing 
for  sale  or  dealing  in  any  books  on  Sundays  and  Festivals 
on  pain  of  confiscation  and  fine. 

'  His  Majesty  hereby  commands  the  Sieur  de  Baudry, 
Master  of  Requests,  and  Lieutenant-General  of  Police,  to 
attend  to  the  due  execution  of  this  order, 
which  is  to  be  published  and  posted  up 
wherever  necessary,  so  that  no  person 
shall  be  ignorant  of  it. 

'  Done  at  Paris,  the  twentieth  of  October, 
one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  twenty- 
one.  (Signed)  Louis,  and  countersigned 
PH£LYPEAUX.' 

The  above  ordinance,  entrusted  to  the 
presses  of  Jean  de  la  Caille,  printer  to  the 
police,  was  read  and  published  in  a  loud 
and  intelligible  voice  to  the  sound  of  the 
trumpet   and   by  the   public   crier,   in  all         •'  f     Sf" 
ordinary  and  accustomed  places,  by  Jean  Lemoine,  officer 
of  the  Chatelet  of  Paris,  and  Crier  appointed  for  the  Town, 
Provostship   and  Viscounty  of  Paris,   and   it   was   duly 


30  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

posted  the  said  day  in  the  said  places.  The  poor  stall- 
keepers,  again  persecuted,  had  to  retire  into  the  shade  and 
seek  with  caution  for  means,  selling  their  goods  clandes- 
tinely. The  Parisians  were  indignant  in  their  jeering 
way ;  there  were  songs,  there  were  pamphlets,  but  the 
shops  had  to  be  shut  all  the  same.  In  one  of  these 
Requestes  in  verse  there  is  an  account,  in  the  simple- 
minded  manner  of  Loret,  of  the  hard  and  desperate  life  of 
the  unfortunate  stall-keepers,  so  unjustly  attacked  by  this 
royal  edict  : 

'  Ces  pauvres  gens,  chaque  matin, 
Sur  Pespoir  d'un  petit  butin, 
Avecque  toute  leur  famille  ; 
Garqons  apprentis,  femme  et  fille 
Chargeant  leur  col  et  plein  leurs  bras 
D'un  scientifique  fatras, 
Venoient  dresser  un  etalage 
Qui  rendoit  plus  beau  le  passage 
Au  grand  bien  de  tout  reposant, 
Et  homeur  dudit  exposant  ; 
Qui,  tous  les  jours,  dessus  ses  hanche-, 
Except^  fetes  et  dimanches, 
Temps  de  vacance  a  tout  trafic, 
Faisoit  de"biter  au  public 
Deure'e  a  produire  doctrine 
Dans  la  substance  cerebrine.' 

This  proscription  of  the  Parisian  stall-keepers  remained 
undoubtedly  without  much  effect,  for  during  the  reign  of 
Louis,  le  Bien-aime,  many  new  ordinances,  couched  in 
almost  identical  terms,  were  posted  and  cried  in  the  four 
corners  of  the  town.  About  1756  decrees,  ordinances, 
and  police  regulations  had  multiplied  almost  without 
limit.  We  have  in  front  of  us  an  unauthorized  collection 
of  forty-seven  papers  in  quarto,  bearing  on  the  sup- 
pression and  demolition  of  the  shops  and  stalls  in  the 
Marche  aux  Poire"es,  the  Quai  des  Augustins,  and  the 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  31 

temporary  shops  of  the  Pont  Neuf.  All  of  them  mention 
the  sellers  of  books  new  and  second-hand,  and  leave  no 
doubt  as  to  the  invasion  of  the  banks  of  the  Seine  by  the 
stall-keepers,  at  least  as  regards  the  vicinity  of  the  Pont 
Neuf. 

In  these  decrees  prohibition  is  declared  against  the 
dealers  occupying  temporary  shops,  erected  and  dis- 
mantled every  day  for  the  sale  of  books  or  images,  under 
the  curious  pretext  of  excessive  liberty  and  abuse. 

At  the  same  time  it  is  only  fair  to  add  that  the  astute 
stall-keeper  indulged  in  all  the  supplenesses  of  an  eel,  and 
practised  the  most  artful  devices  for  evading  the  edicts  by 
which  he  was  pursued. 

Attacked  by  a  series  of  terrible  decrees  and  unjustifi- 
able ordinances  under  Louis  after  Louis,  four  in  suc- 
cession, he  might  well  feel  discouraged,  and  inclined  to 
abandon  his  thankless  trade  ;  but  like  a  true  child  of 
Paris,  he  made  the  best  of  it,  and  in  spite  of  the 
thunders  of  their  majesties'  officials,  the  stall-keeper 
slipped  away,  only  to  return  to  the  water,  to  flourish 
on  the  bank  of  the  river,  or  on  the  parapets  of  its 
bridges. 

The  quays  on  the  left  bank  were  then  crowded  and 
gay,  the  best  society  there  met,  at  least  in  the  part 
facing  the  Louvre  and  the  Tuileries.  The  Quai  des 
Theatins  (now  the  Quai  Voltaire)  offered  to  the  ad- 
miration of  strangers  the  monastery  and  church  of  the 
good  fathers,  as  well  as  the  two  hotels  de  Mailly,  the 
gardens  and  terrace  of  which  occupied  the  whole  space 
between  the  Rue  des  Bac  and  the  Rue  de  Beaune ;  the 
Hotel  de  Morstin,  built  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des 
Saints-Peres,  by  the  Florentine  Falain,  marked  no  less 
sumptuously  the  beginning  of  the  Quai  Malaquais,  where 
people  could  still  admire  those  two  superb  buildings,  the 
Hotel  de  Bouillon,  adorned  by  the  pencil  of  Lebrun,  and 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


that  of  Queen   Margaret,  which  after  1718  became  the 
Hotel  Gilbert  de  Voisin.* 

These  two  quays  were  then  the  favourite  promenade  of 
the  ladies  of  quality,  who  met  there  in  the  afternoon  to 
display  their  rouge,  their  petticoats,  their  patches,  their 
Chinese  fans,  and  the  little  lackeys  who  carried  their 
trains.  In  threading  the  serried  ranks  of  these  fair 
pedestrians,  among  whom  glided  a  few  milliners  and 


more  than  one  lady  of  the  opera,  the  emblazoned  Quai  des 
Quatre  Nations  was  reached,  and  then  the  Quai  de  Conti, 
which  bordered  the  whole  length  of  the  hotel  of  that 
name,  and  the  Hotel  de  la  Roche-sur-Yon.  It  was  in 
this  Hotel  Conti,  then  the  Hotel  Guenegaud,  that  Moliere 
lived,  at  this  very  spot  where  in  1771  stood  the  Hotel 
des  Monnaies. 

The  stall-keepers  then  abounded  in  these  parts,  and  it 

*  See  Les  Rues  de  Paris,  Paris  ancient  and  modern  (1844),  the 
article  by  Mary  Lafon  on  the  Quays,  vol.  i.,  pp.  293,  316. 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA 


was  the  correct  thing  for  the  kindly  loungers  to  gossip 
around  the  bookstalls,  and  exchange  their  choicest  witti- 
cisms on  the  taste  of  the  times  and  the  petty  literature 
then  in  fashion.  At  all  hours  of  the  day  this  neighbour- 
hood was  much  frequented — above  all,  by  men  of  letters, 
lawyers  of  the  Basoche,  and  foreigners.  There  is  one 
historic  fact  sufficiently  unknown  to  be  worth  mention  by 
us,  for  it  shows  that  not  only  did  the  booksellers  and  stall- 
keepers  contribute  to  attract  literary  society  to  the  environs 
of  the  Hotel  Mazarin,  but  that  there  existed  a  meeting- 
place,  doing  a  good  trade  in  French  and  English  journals. 

This  was  at  the  angle  of  the  Rue  Dauphine  and  the 
Quai  Conti,  where  stood  the  first  establishment  known  in 
Paris  under  the  name  of  Cafe  Anglais.  Painted  in  large 
letters  on  the  signboard  appeared  the  words,  Cafe  Anglais. 
Bucket,  Proprietaire. 

This  was  the  meeting-place  of  most  of  the  English 
writers  visiting  Paris  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the 
literary  men  of  the  period,  the  encyclopaedists,  and  the 
Court  poets  of  Louis  XV.  About  1769  it  provided  for  its 
patrons  the  best  of  the  British  newspapers,  such  as  the 
Westminster  Gazette,  the  London  Evening  Post,  the  Daily 
Advertiser,  and  the  various  pamphlets  published  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Channel. 

More  of  a  literary  club  than  a  shop  for  the  sale  of 
lemonade  and  coffee,  it  was  managed  by  Bechet,  the 
chief  of  a  dynast)7  of  booksellers,  which  lasted  on  till 
almost  our  own  days  on  the  Quai  des  Augustins  and  in 
the  streets  about  the  Sorbonne. 

It  should  be  remembered  that  the  Quai  Conti  was,  up 
till  1769,  but  a  very  narrow  passage  leading  down  to 
a  watering-place  for  horses.  Between  the  Pont  Neuf  and 
the  building  known  as  the  Chateau  Gaillard,  which  stood 
at  the  opening  of  the  Rue  Guenegaud,  there  were  a  few- 
shops,  where  a  perpetual  little  fair  was  held. 

3 


34  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IX  PARIS 

This  Chateau  Gaillard,  which  was  a  dependency  of  the 
old  Porte  de  Nesle,  had  been  granted  by  Francis  I.  to 
Benvenuto  Cellini.  The  illustrious  Florentine  jeweller 
there  received  the  visits  of  the  royal  patron  of  the  arts, 
and  executed  under  his  Majesty's  eyes  the  works  the  King 
had  ordered  of  him. 

This  Cafe  Anglais,  kept  by  Bechet,  sufficiently  explains 
how  the  Quartier  Conti  came  to  be  so  fashionable  among 
the  islanders  at  the  end  of  the  last  century.  It  will  be 
remembered  that  Sterne  in  his  delightful  Sentimental 
Journey  arrived  in  1767  at  the  Hotel  de  Modene,  in  the 
Rue  Jacob,  opposite  the  Rue  des  Deux  Anges  ;  and  we 
have  not  forgotten  his  love  for  the  quays,  and  the  adven- 
ture which  occurred  to  him  when  talking  to  a  bookseller 
on  the  Quai  Conti,  from  whom  he  sought  to  obtain  a 
copy  of  Shakespeare,  in  order  that  he  might  again  read 
the  advice  of  Polonius  to  his  son  on  travel.  In  this 
chapter  of  Sterne  there  is  a  charming  scene  giving  the 
most  curious  picture  of  a  book-lover  and  a  bookseller 
that  we  have  for  more  than  a  century.  The  adventure  of 
the  pretty  chambermaid  come  to  buy  Les  Egarcmcnts  dn 
Cceur  et  de  VEsprit,  and  which  happened  to  the  English 
humorist,  tenderly  smitten,  is  not  to  be  despised  as  a 
recollection  bearing  on  our  subject.  It  was  the  custom 
of  men  of  wit,  as  Fournier  observes,  to  spend  their 
leisure  hours  in  the  book-shops.  They  went  to  Quillan's 
reading-room  in  the  Rue  Christine;  but  they  more 
generally  went  to  the  Rue  Saint-Louis-au-Palais,  near 
the  Pont  Neuf,  to  visit  Desauge,  senior,  who  by  agree- 
ment with  the  police  had  retained  the  sole  right  of  selling 
prohibited  erotic  books. 

Diderot,  in  his  Salon  of  1761,  relates  how  he  knew, 
when  he  was  twenty  years  old,  the  wife  of  Greuze,  then 
a  girl  in  a  small  book-shop. 

'  I  used  to  like  her,'  he  said,  '  when  I  was  young  and 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA 


35 


she  was  called  Mademoiselle  Babuti.  She  kept  a 
little  book-shop  on  the  Quai  des  Augustins  —  a  smart 
young  woman,  white  and  upright  as  the  lily,  red  as  the 
rose.  I  entered  in  that  brisk,  excited  way  I  had,  and 
said  : 

'  "  Mademoiselle,  Lcs  Contes  de  La  Fontaine — a  Petronius, 
if  you  please." 

'  "  There  they  are,  sir.  Do  you  want  any  other 
books  ?" 

'  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  mademoiselle,  but — 

'  "  Say  what  it  is." 

'  "  La  Rcligieuse  en  Chemise.'" 

'  "  Oh  fie,  sir  !     Do  you  read  rubbish  like  that  ?" 

'  "  Ah,  ah  !  Is  it  rubbish,  mademoiselle  ?  I  was  not 
aware  of  that ;"  and  next  time  I  passed  I  smiled  and 
so  did  she.' 

Restif  de  la  Bretonne,  in  his  Contemporaries,  has  no 
more  than  Diderot  omitted  to  mention  his  flirtations 
with  some  of  these  bookstall  girls,  and  wrote  a  long 
chapter  on  the  fair  bookseller  and  the  pretty  stationer,  in 
which  there  is  certainly  no  want  of  facts,  but  we  leave 
them  to  the  curious. 

The  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  were  the 
merry  times  of  the  quays  and  of  the  Quartier  Dauphine. 
The  street  amusements  then  provided  for  the  Parisians 
on  the  Pont  Neuf,  the  Place  Dauphine,  the  Place  de 
1'Estrapade,  and  at  Saint  Laurent,  have  long  disappeared 
from  the  centre  of  the  town,  and  have  been  relegated  to 
its  ends.  Mountebanks,  strong  men,  jugglers,  ballad- 
singers,  sellers  of  gingerbread,  etc.,  were  to  be  found 
before  1870  at  the  cross-roads  near  the  Observatory, 
round  about  the  Pont  d'Austerlitz,  on  the  left  bank  and 
on  the  right  bank  of  the  Seine  and  in  the  Place  du  Trone. 
Since  then  they  have  all  gone. 

While  on  this  subject,  there  recurs  to  our  memory  a 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


motto  which  figured  in  the  seventeenth  century  on  the 
placard  of  a  tooth-drawer  named  Carmeline,  established 
on  the  Pont  Neuf  opposite  the  Place  Dauphine.  Amid 
molars  and  canines  newly  extracted  and  threaded  like 
beads  on  a  necklace,  there  was  to  be  read :  Una  avulsd, 
non  deficit  altera  (One  tooth  drawn,  there  is  no  want  of 

others).  This  motto,  taken 
from  Virgil,  and  amusingly 
travestied  for  the  occasion, 
proved  a  great  success  for 
the  charlatan. 

With  regard  to  charlatan, 
an  expression  often  used 
and  applied  to  others  than 
the  industrials  of  the  Pont 
Neuf,  who  knows  its  origin  ? 
It  is  one  of  the  strangest. 

Alongside  the  tooth-drawer 
of  the  Place  Dauphine  just 
mentioned  there  was  a  stall 
on  trestles  occupied  by  a 
dealer  in  drugs  of  all  sorts 
and  in  powders  of  all  vir- 
tues. His  sign  ran  :  //  signor 

Desiderio  Descomba,  pregratissimo  medico  di  Milano.  He 
wore  a  cloak  or  tunic  of  scarlet,  in  Italian  scarlattino, 
scarlatano,  whence  comes  the  word  charlatan. 

Yet  another  curious  etymology:  that  of  orvietan, 
which  we  owe  to  another  charlatan  of  the  old  Pont 
Neuf. 

Signor  Hieronimo  de  Ferranti,  born  at  Orvieto,  a  town 
in  Italy,  in  the  province  of  Viterbo,  opened  a  shop  for 
ointments  in  Paris,  at  the  foot  of  the  Pont  Neuf,  at 
the  angle  of  the  Rue  Dauphine,  where  there  is  now 
a  refreshment-room  The  shop  of  the  signor  from 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  37 


Orvieto  had  a  sun  for  a  sign.  He  sold  an  electuary  which 
had  all  the  virtues  imaginable  and  cured  every  disease. 
On  a  panel  in  the  shop  were  frames  of  letters  certifying 
that  the  unequalled  remedy  had  cured  all  the  most 
mighty  sovereigns  of  Africa,  a  country  little  known  in 
those  days. 

All  Paris  ran  to  the  Sun.  The  electuary  took  the 
name  of  orvictan,  and  round  the  shop  of  the  Italian 
charlatan  crowded  strangers  from  all  parts  of  Europe  to 
purchase  the  specific,  which,  according  to  the  testimonials, 
triumphed  over  all  ills,  past,  present,  and  future. 

The  word  orvietan  remained  to  denote  anything  value- 
less, and  every  cheat  dealing  in  pompous  expressions  was 
dubbed  marchand  d'orvie'tan. 

We  cannot  pass  in  silence,  now  we  have  mentioned  the 
charlatans  of  the  seventeenth  century,  the  famous  Baron 
de  Gratelard,  the  great  vendor  of  ointment  on  the  same 
Pont  Neuf.  In  his  repertory  were  the  most  amusing 
facetiae.  The  public  in  their  anxiety  to  see  him  and 
hear  him  actually  fought  with  fists  to  get  near  his  trestles. 
A  book  was  printed  about  him,  Les  Entrctiens  familiers  du 
sieur  baron  de  Gratelard,  disciple  de  Verboquct. 

But  this  digression  may  be  over-long ;  let  us  return  to 
the  bonqninistes  of  the  quays.  In  the  eighteenth  century 
this  word  bouquiniste,  of  German,  or,  rather,  Dutch  origin, 
was  used  in  the  double  sense  of  bookseller  and  book- 
hunter.  '  He  is  called  a  Bouquiniste,'  says  Sebastien 
Mercier,  '  who  pries  into  every  corner  in  Paris  to  unearth 
old  books  and  rare  works,  and  who  sells  them.  He  first 
visits  the  quays,  the  small  shops,  and  every  place  where 
pamphlets  are  displayed  for  sale.  He  turns  over  the 
piles  that  lie  on  the  ground  and  seizes  upon  the  most 
dusty  volumes  and  those  which  have  an  antique  look 
about  them/ 

Mercier    does   not    speak    of    the    bouquiniste    in    the 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


second  sense,  and  you  have  to  run  carefully  through  his 
Tableau  dc  Paris  as  far  as  the  chapter  headed  Revendeurs 
de  livrcs  before  finding  the  curious  passage  which 
follows  : 

'There  is  certainly  ten  times  more  reading  in  Paris 
now  than  there  was  a  century  ago,  if  one  considers  this 
multitude  of  small  libraries,  which,  entrenched  in  the 
shops  at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  and  sometimes  in  the 
open  air,  deal  in  old  second-hand  books  or  in  the  new 
pamphlets  which  succeed  each  other  without  interrup- 
tion. These  dealers  often  sell  newly  prohibited  works, 
but  they  are  careful  riot  to  display  them  ;  they  show  them 
to  you  behind  the  shelves  of  their  shop  ;  these  monkey 
tricks  mean  a  few  sous  more  to  them,  and  they  make 
their  money  in  every  way  on  all  possible  novelties  sacred 
and  profane.  Diplomacy,  banking,  the  dispute  about  the 
deficit,  the  war  with  the  Turks  and  Imperialists,  the  lives 
of  the  Popes  or  the  hermits,  all  come  to  their  net  ;  they 
take  out  the  first  page,  disfigure  the  title,  not  caring  to 
mention  it,  and  sell  the  works  of  genius  as  they  would  sell 
a  piece  of  cheese.' 

Is  not  that  a  beautiful  expression  ?  But  Mercier,  a 
little  further  on,  does  better  : 

'  The  dealers  go  to  the  inventories,  buy  without  know- 
ing them  the  books  they  never  read,  knocking  the 
dust  out  of  them  and  laying  them  out  for  sale.  The 
buyer  as  he  passes  interrupts  his  march,  and  before 
deciding  reads  a  few  pages  ;  another  interested  in  his 
reading  reads  the  book  standing,  and  would  go  on  to 
the  end  of  it,  if  the  dealer  did  not  rouse  him  out  of  his 
enchantment. 

'  Romances,  travels,  and  a  few  books  of  devotion,  are 
bought  more  than  others  —  poetry  is  down  in  the  world, 
and  prose  of  all  kinds  sells  better  than  verse,  which  is 
read  no  longer.'  (Is  it  ever  read  in  a  crowd  ?) 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  y} 

1  Among  these  dealers,  stationed  in  the  passages  of  the 
public  promenades,'  says  Mercier  further,  as  if  to  show  us 
that  nothing  changes,  '  are  a  few  spies  who  serve  two 
objects  :  to  recognise  the  people  whose  descriptions  have 
been  given,  or  to  denounce  those  who  bring  them  some 
illicit  pamphlet,  or  those  who,  with  too  apparent  an 
appetite,  ask  for  one  of  those  books  which  more  often  than 
not  have  imaginary  titles.' 

Mercier  only  speaks  incidentally  of  the  quays,  but  he 
shows  that  books  were  in  abundance  on  the  left  bank 
either  in  shops  or  on  stalls  in  the  open  air.  On  the  Pont 
Neuf,  in  the  little  pavilions  built  on  the  half-moons  of  the 
pillars  in  1775,  and  which  were  not  completely  demolished 
until  1853,  bookstall-keepers  were  in  the  majority.  In 
the  Almanack  de  la  Samaritaine  which  appeared  in  1787 
we  find :  '  La  Samaritaine  is  a  judge  of  books,  so  many 
have  been  sold  on  the  parapet  close  by.  She  thinks  she 
may  say  that  folios  will  continue  to  be  at  a  discount,  and 
that  i6mos  will  have  a  wonderful  run.  They  move  off 
easily,  and,  what  is  better,  they  are  easily  lost.' 

A  curious  satire,  which  again  tends  to  prove  that  the 
horror  of  large  sizes  is  not  quite  special  to  our  times,  and 
is  not  only  due,  as  it  is  said,  to  the  limited  accommodation 
of  our  lodgings. 

Under  the  Revolution  the  stall-keepers  knew  days  of 
liberty,  and  even  of  license,  for,  according  to  Meister,  in 
the  year  V,  the  capital  of  the  world  had  at  that  time  the 
appearance  of  Rag-fair.  But  what  opportunities  collectors 
then  had!  Riches  then  changed  hands  by  the  cartload, 
and  in  the  scattered  boxes  on  the  parapets  lay  admirable 
volumes  wearied  of  magnificence,  wide-margined  Elzevirs 
sumptuously  bound  in  old  red  morocco,  superb  editions  of 
the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries  bound  by  Eve  and 
Le  Gascon,  grand  folios  descriptive  of  the  festivals  in  the 
preceding  reign,  their  leather  vestments  covered  with 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


iron  shields  and  royal  arms,  all  faded  in  the  sun,  softened 
in  the  rain  and  soiled  by  the  dust !  What  an  uprising  ! 
Brother  bibliophiles,  would  we  had  been  there,  like  Saint 
Vincent  de  Paul,  to  receive  and  restore  the  disinherited  ! 

A  little  later  Madame  de 
Genlis,  in  her  Memoires, 
wrote  these  lines  which 
make  us  leap  with  envy. 
'  I  stopped  on  the  quays,' 
she  says,  '  before  the  little 
stalls  wherein  the  bound 
books  bore  the  arms  of  a 
number  of  people  I  knew, 
and  in  other  stalls  I  noticed 
their  portraits  exposed  for 
sale.' 


In  the  Fragments  sur  Paris  of  Jean  Laurent  Meyer, 
translated  from  the  German  by  General  Dumouriez  and 
published  at  Hamburg  in  1798,  we  meet  with  this  note : 
'  The  Quai  de  Voltaire  resembles  a  gallery  of  engravings. 
The  dealers  have  covered  all  the  walls  of  the  houses. 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  41 

You  will  find  there  excellent  examples  ancient  and 
modern,  but  also  much  rubbish — the  innumerable  prints 
which  have  appeared  during  the  Revolution,  and  which, 
having  had  their  day,  have  disappeared.  I  have  seen  but 
one  bad  print  representing  the  attack  on  the  Thuileries 
of  the  loth  of  August.  I  have  sought  in  vain  for  many 
others,  such  as  the  portraits  of  men  become  famous 
through  the  Revolution  ;  Fresinger's  collection  of  the 
members  of  the  Constituent  Assembly  is  no  longer  to  be 
found,  that  excellent  artist  having  gone  to  England. 
The  dealers  have  themselves  burnt  their  collections  for 
fear  of  being  accused  and  arrested  under  the  reign  of 
Robespierre.  The  celebrated  engraver  Alix  has  destroyed 
during  this  very  time  of  terror  and  weakness  most  of  his 
best  engravings,  especially  his  portraits  of  famous  men, 
for  there  has  been  a  search  made  in  the  houses  of  the 
artists  to  charge  them  as  suspects  ;  it  was  not  until  after 
the  gth  Thermidor  that  he  dared  to  enrich  his  fine  series 
of  illuminated  portraits  of  great  men  with  those  of 
Mirabeau,  Bailly,  and  Lavoisier.' 

It  was  a  good  time  all  the  same,  as  the  historian  of  the 
Pont  Neuf  wrote — a  good  time  for  the  bookstall-keeper, 
above  all.  One  of  them  who  afterwards  became  a  rich 
bookseller,  and  whose  trumpery  stock  was  then  drying  on 
the  Quai  des  Augustins,  having  learnt  that  on  the  5th 
Germinal  of  the  year  VI.  all  the  books  of  theology  and 
devotion  were  to  be  taken  from  the  Chateau  de  Sceaux  to 
the  Arsenal,  to  be  transformed  into  cartridges  and  car- 
tridge-pouch linings,  ran  to  the  place  of  massacre,  and 
found  means  to  arrive  at  an  understanding  with  the 
carrier,  and  exchange  the  marvels  of  the  Duchesse  du 
Maine  for  old  books  of  no  value.  The  beautiful  books  of 
the  Chateau  de  Sceaux,  exported  by  this  intelligent  book- 
seller to  England,  brought  him  in  quite  a  little  fortune. 
In  chapter  ccxxi.  of  his  Paris  pendant  la  Revolution,  Citizen 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


Mercier  reports  the  invasion  of  the  stalls  and  their 
keepers  '  One  of  the  most  striking  things  in  the  town,' 
he  says,  '  is  the  sight  of  the  quays,  bridges,  open  spaces 
and  public  places,  the  corners  of  the  streets,  and  even  the 
whole  length  of  the  streets,  obstructed  by  portable  stalls 
and  booths-there  are  even  grocery  shops  on  the  pave- 
ment. The  borders  of  the  quays  are  covered  with  books  ; 

there  are  even  more  book- 
stalls than  cake-stalls.  People 
must  be  reading  prodigi- 
ously, for  everywhere  there 
is  nothing  but  books.  There 
are  libraries  on  wheels,  which 
are  run  off  when  it  rains, 
and  return  when  the  sun  re- 
appears. On  every  side  you 
turn  you  see  the  permanent 
fair  of  France  in  which  the 
actors  are  thrust  into  the 
smallest  possible  hole.  The 
secret  has  been  discovered 
of  cramming  the  greatest 
number  of  stalls  into  the 
least  possible  space.  Even  the  walls  have  been  dug  into, 
and  some  of  the  streets  of  Paris  are  like  a  honeycomb  in 
which  a  solution  is  found  for  this  problem  by  mercantile 
mechanism.' 

Notwithstanding  this  extreme  liberty  given  to  the  small 
dealers  and  the  bookstall-keepers,  the  trade  in  books 
during  the  Revolution,  the  Directory,  and  the  Consulate 
did  not  flourish  as  might  be  supposed.  In  the  course  of 
our  rummaging  strolls  we  chanced,  at  a  rag-dealer's,  on  a 
curious  manuscript  evidently  written  for  the  press,  and 
which  appears  to  us  to  have  been  composed  by  some  dis- 
contented bookseller  about  the  year  VIII.  or  IX.  It  is  a 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  43 


Memoire  pour  Ic  corps  de  la  librairie,  contre  au  moins  trois 
cents  particulars  vendeurs,  brocanteiirs,  recelleurs  et  etalleurs 
de  livres.  It  is  particularly  characteristic,  but  unfor- 
tunately unfinished.  It  consists  of  but  four  pages  and  a 
half  in  quarto,  and  thus  begins  : 

'  The  deplorable  state  and  grievous  situation  in  which 
the  book  trade  now  is,  compels  its  members  to  have 
recourse  to  the  chief  magistrates  to  stop  the  unbridled 
license  of  a  crowd  of  people  of  all  conditions  who  have 
come  into  this  Profession  (a  name  given  with  regret  to  a 
science  which  includes  all  the  others)  of  dealers  in  books 
(not  booksellers)  of  all  kinds  in  the  most  beautiful  town 
in  Europe. 

'  Books  almost  unique,  fallen  into  the  hands  of  these 
dealers,  have  been,  for  want  of  knowledge,  sold  to  the 
buttermen,  in  such  a  way  that  the  learned  and,  what  is 
more,  public  libraries  have  been  deprived  of  them. 

'  What  annoyance  it  is  to  see  books  mixed  on  the  Pont 
Neuf  with  melons — a  man  leaves  the  service  for  which  he 
is  fitted  to  sell  books,  a  woman  to  seek  an  Elzevir  Virgil  in 
a  pile  of  shallots  that  are  sold  by  the  litron. 

'  The  pillars  of  the  Halles,  who  would  have  believed  it  ? 
That  old-clothes  store  for  every  kind  of  rubbish  is  heaped 
up  on  Sundays  and  holidays  with  books ;  I  leave  you  to 
judge  where  they  come  from. 

'  Who  would  have  believed  that  you  can  buy  books 
in  baskets  slung  on  to  a  horse,  as  you  can  buy  cheese  ? 
And  yet  that  can  be  seen  any  day  in  the  streets  of 
Paris. 

'  Wrho  would  believe  that  a  servant  can  steal  his  master's 
books  and  then  expose  them  openly  for  sale  at  a  stall  ? 
And  yet  that  is  what  can  be  done  owing  to  the  abused 
tolerance  of  the  bookstalls. 

'  Twelve  or  fifteen  years  ago  the  book  auctions  served 
as  daily  academies  ;  there  private  gentlemen,  learned  men, 


44  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

and  the  booksellers,  were  accustomed  to  meet  in  as- 
semblies agreeable  for  society  and  profitable  for  the  heirs. 
To-day  these  meetings  have  changed  ;  they  are  attended 
by  hucksters,  second-hand  brokers,  lackeys,  stall-keepers, 
and  a  crowd  of  people  with  neither  house  nor  home, 
whose  name  or  address  is  rarely  known,  who  seize  upon 
the  goods  in  such  a  way  that  neither  private  buyers  nor 
the  booksellers  can  get  near  them  ;  nay,  more,  by  act  and 
deed  they  maltreat  our  widows,  however  aged  they  may 
be.' 

This  pretty  picture  of  the  black  gang  of  the  stall- 
keepers  of  the  days  gone  by  is  in  this  paper  developed  at 
considerable  length,  and,  as  can  be  seen,  there  is  nothing 
attractive  about  it.  In  the  name  of  his  colleagues,  the 
booksellers  in  the  shops,  the  author  of  the  document 
demands  aid  and  protection  from  the  Government ;  he 
demands  privileges,  and  he  rises  in  indignation  against 
the  priests  and  monks  who  trade  in  books — although  they 
are  prohibited  from  doing  so  by  the  sacred  canons,  which 
enjoin  them  to  '  employ  their  time  in  converting  them- 
selves by  converting  others.' 

We  have  quoted  but  a  few  extracts  from  this  curious 
memorandum  to  show  how  low  the  bookseller  had  fallen. 
On  all  sides  we  hear  of  this  collapse,  and  J.  B.  Pujoult,  in 
his  Paris  a  la  Fin  du  XVIII*  Slide,  affords  us  another 
proof. 

'  Never,'  he  says,  *  had  science  or  literature  been  so 
cheap ;  the  poor  people  read  much,  the  rich  would  not  or 
could  not  read. 

"A  sou  apiece!  two  sous  apiece!"  was  the  most 
frequent  cry  on  the  Boulevard  Montmartre  and  the 
Quai  du  Louvre ;  but  what  do  you  think  the  dealer  was 
selling  ?  Cakes  ?  No,  books  ! 

'  Do  you  see  that  dusty  heap  ?  that  is  the  rubbish  of 
some  fundholder's  library;  that  cartload  of  books,  in 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  45 

block,  was  not  sold  at  more  than  a  farthing  a  volume. 
Run  over  with  me  the  titles  of  the  volumes ;  what  a 
medley  !  Here  is  a  book  of  devotion  and  the  Contes  de  La 
Fontaine,  here  are  the  works  of  Nicolle  under  a  pamphlet 
of  Voltaire's,  farther  on  is  a  panegyric  on  Saint  Louis  in 
the  same  binding  as  the  Revolutions  de  Paris. 

'But,'  continues  Pujoult,  'that  which  swarmed  and 
formed  the  bulk  of  the  stall-keeper's  stock  was  the  private 
memoir.  Read:  Memoires  militaires  de  I' Abbe  Millot, 
Memoir es  de  la  Vieuville,  Memoires  de  Feuquieres,  Memoires 
d'Etat  de  Villeroi,  Memoires  du  Cardinal  de  Richelieu.  At 
one  halfpenny,  one  halfpenny  a  volume  !  Memoires  dc 
Sully,  at  two  halfpennies !  Ah !  those  I  will  take  away 
with  me  !' 

'  Be  calm,  ye  indignant  shades,  if  your  names  no  longer 
make  the  fortune  of  the  bookseller,  even  if  they  ruin  him  ; 
know  that  for  more  than  six  months  all  the  grocers, 
fruiterers,  and  other  tradesmen  in  my  district  have  been 
wrapping  up  the  things  they  sell  in  entire  sheets  of  the 
Lettres  de  Voltaire,  good  type,  good  paper.  That  is 
the  positive  fact.  Yes,  I  came  to  read  this  collection 
solely  because  I  am  fond  of  Gruyere  cheese  and 
cherries.' 

This  terrible  clearing  out  of  books  at  less  than  waste- 
paper  prices  was  quite  natural  at  the  outbreak  of  the 
Revolution  and  during  the  first  wars  of  the  Republic ;  the 
market  became  overloaded  for  so  many  obvious  reasons 
that  it  does  not  seem  urgent  to  detail  them  here ;  by 
consulting  Werdet's  Histoire  de  la  Librairie  Fran$aise,  it 
will  be  seen  how  books  gradually  returned  to  honour 
under  the  Empire  and  the  Restoration.  Bonaparte,  in 
giving  a  general  impulse  to  all  industries,  raised  the  poor 
stall-keepers  out  of  the  mud,  and  under  the  geometric 
glance  of  the  conqueror  of  Italy  and  Egypt  the  banks  of 
the  Seine  were  made  straight  and  clothed  more  regularly 


46 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


in  a  solid  and  useful  rampart  of  stones  admirably  adapted 
for  our  friends  the  stall-keepers. 

This  would  be  the  moment,  if  the  fancy  took  us  to  be 
precise,  to  speak  of  the  garret  of  Bonaparte  on  the  Quai 

Conti,  and  show  the  young 
lieutenant  going  and  coming 
along  the  quays,  his  brow 
thoughtful,  eagerly  searching 
among  the  boxes  for  books 
on  algebra,  history,  and 
geography ;  but  this  legend 
of  the  garret  of  the  Quai 
Conti  at  No.  5,  in  the  angle 
of  the  Ruelle  de  Nevers,  a 
yard  or  so  from  the  Petit 
Dunkcrquc,  no  longer  exists 
now  that  M.  Auguste  Vitu,  in 
a  very  interesting  work,  has 
clearly  established  that  the 
statement  that  Bonaparte 
lived  in  this  house  is  as  false 
in  fact  as  in  form. 

Do  not  insist  on  it,  then, 
and  do  not  repeat  with 
Edouard  Fournier  the  ver- 
sion which  represents  Napo- 
leon taking  Marie-Louise  to  the  surroundings  of  the 
Pont  Neuf  to  show  her  with  emotion  the  room  in  which, 
solitary  and  ambitious,  he  lived  poorly  after  leaving  the 
Military  School,  feverishly  awaiting  an  opportunity  for 
distinguishing  himself. 

Under  the  Empire  and  under  the  Restoration  the 
history  of  the  stall-keepers  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine 
would  be  worth  a  pause  if  we  could  only  be  sure  of  limit- 
ing our  gossip  on  the  subject ;  but  already  documents 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  47 


arc  multiplying  under  our  eyes,  recollections  abound  in 
our  memory,  evoking  so  much  reading  on  this  important 
subject ;  Barba,  Nodier,  Peignot,  Pixerecourt,  Didot, 
Werdet,  Paul  Lacroix,  Hugo  even,  have  spoken  so 
excellently  of  the  excellent  stall-keepers  of  the  first  half 
of  this  century,  of  their  physiognomy  and  of  the  admirable 
finds  they  made  in  their  portable  stalls,  that  it  would  be 
folly  to  pretend  to  summarize  all  that. 

The  representative  which  dominates  all  others,  the  glory 
of  the  dealers  of  the  quays,  was  Achaintre,  the  very  learned 
Latin  scholar,  who  about  1811,  on  the  parapets  facing  the 
Institute,  sold  books  which  he  often  took  the  trouble  to 
note.  M.  de  Fontaine,  then  head-master  of  the  Uni- 
versity, thought  of  placing  this  needy,  tattered  Latinist 
in  some  library  where  he  could  work  sheltered  from  the 
weather ;  but  the  good  fellow  was  deaf,  he  had  none  of 
the  gifts  of  the  beggar  and  the  courtier,  he  was  forgotten, 
and  died  at  his  post  at  an  advanced  age. 

M.  Victor  Fournel,  under  the  pseudonym  of  Henry 
Bruneel,  in  the  Magasin  pittoresque,  published  some  forty 
years  ago  a  graphic  sketch  which  brings  on  the  scene  the 
worthy  Achaintre  and  a  student.  The  student,  on  the 
quays,  asks  him,  without  knowing  who  he  is,  for  some 
information  regarding  an  edition  of  Juvenal  which  the 
admirable  Latinist  had  just  published.  '  But  I  am 
Achaintre,'  replies  the  good  man,  quite  moved.  The 
anecdote  is  a  charming  one,  and  we  regret  that  we  are 
unable  to  quote  it  at  length. 

The  increased  success  of  the  books  on  the  quays  at  the 
time  of  the  Restoration  was  due  to  the  coming  into 
fashion  of  foreign  authors  who  had  an  immoderate 
reputation  amongst  us  for  several  years  ;  the  sales  of 
Shakespeare,  Walter  Scott,  Schiller,  Lessing,  and  Wieland 
were  enormous.  Ladvocat  was  the  first  to  put  this  kind 
of  literature  on  the  market,  and  simply  overflowed  with 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


it.  But  the  classics  dropped  terribly.  Viennet,  Dela- 
vigne,  Lamartine,  and  Hugo  already  sold  well,  even 
occasionally  at  Sylvestre's  sale-rooms  in  the  Rue  des 
Bons-Enfants,  where  the  stall- keepers  bought  wholesale 
at  the  close  of  the  day.  But  as  several  rather  free  and 
easy  books  were  sold  there  through  the  medium  of  the 
stall-keepers,  they  were  put  down. 

In  1822,  on  the  3ist  of  October,  the  Prefect  of  Police, 
Delavau,  issued  an  edict,  lengthily  elaborate  and  highly 

severe,  concerning  the  stall- 
keepers  in  the  public  streets, 
whether  sellers  of  books 
wholesale  or  retail,  or  of  en- 
gravings, lithographs,  pic- 
tures, or  works  of  art. 

'  Considering,'  says  this  cir- 
cular, '  that  the  keepers  of 
stalls  on  the  public  ways 
frequently  expose  for  sale 
works,  books:  or  objects  of 
art  more  or  less  dangerous 
or  contrary  to  the  law  ; 

'  Considering  that  stalls 
cannot  be  set  up  without  ex- 
press authority  from  us,  and 
that  the  dealers,  who  make 
use  of  this  authority  as  a 

means  of  corrupting  the  morals  or  opinions  of  the  public, 
abuse  the  authority  which  would  remain  responsible  for  the 
evil  were  it  not  to  end  it — 
'  It  is  ordered  as  follows  : 

'  i.  Every  dealer  keeping  a  stall  on  the  public  way  will 
at  once  remove  from  his  stall  every  book,  engraving,  or 
object  of  art  which  may  be  considered  by  the  authorities 
as  contrary  to  the  law  and  hurtful  to  morals. 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  49 

'  2.  The  stall-keeper  who  has  been  cautioned  to  remove 
any  of  the  above-mentioned  works  and  has  not  complied 
with  the  order  given  in  reference  thereto,  and  continues  to 
display  the  aforesaid  works  or  others  of  a  like  nature,  will 
be  deprived  of  the  right  of  keeping  a  stall  for  the  period 
of  one  year,  and  his  authority  to  do  so  will  be  definitely 
withdrawn  at  the  third  offence.' 

Another  ordinance  on  the  igth  of  September,  1829, 
dealt  with  a  more  delicate  question,  that  of  the  sale  of 
books  by  domestics  and  children,  and  more  particularly 
by  young  scholars  short  of  money.  Frequent  complaints 
had  been  made  to  the  authorities,  and  hence  the  action 
of  the  police,  from  whose  notice  we  quote  the  greater 
portion  : 

'  i.  All  bookstall-keepers  and  other  persons  concerned  in 
the  sale  of  books  within  the  boundaries  of  the  prefecture 
of  police  are  hereby  prohibited  from  purchasing  any  books 
or  other  such  works  from  children,  scholars,  servants, 
and  domestics,  without  express  consent  in  writing  of  their 
fathers,  mothers,  guardians,  or  masters. 

'  2.  They  are  also  forbidden  to  purchase  from  any 
persons  whose  names  and  addresses  are  not  well  known, 
or  at  least  certified  by  other  persons,  who  must  be  house- 
holders and  of  substantial  means. 

'  3.  All  booksellers,  stall-keepers,  and  other  persons 
engaged  in  the  book  trade  are  enjoined  to  retain  the 
books  offered  for  sale  to  them  by  unknown  and  suspicious 
persons,  and  to  forward  and  deposit  them  within 
twenty-four  hours  in  the  hands  of  the  police  of  their 
district,  or  to  the  Maire  of  their  commune,  who  will 
receive  their  declarations. 

'  4.  The  said  booksellers  and  stall-keepers,  and  all  those 
trading  in  books  £.nd  other  such  works  within  the  limits 
of  the  prefecture  of  police,  are  hereby  required  from 
the  date  of  this  ordinance  to  open  and  keep  two  registers, 

4 


5o  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

in  which  they  will  state  their  names  and  occupations,  and 
enter  from  day  to  day  consecutively,  and  without  blanks 
or  omissions,  their  purchases,  sales,  and  exchanges  of 
books  with  their  titles,  as  well  as  the  names,  surnames, 
occupations  and  addresses  of  those  from  whom  they 
obtained  them,  and  their  references.' 

This  measure  had  apparently  no  better  success  sixty 
years  ago  than  it  has  had  since,  for  a  few  years  later,  in 
1835,  Alphonse  'Karr  wrote  an  article  on  the  second-hand 
booksellers  in  the  Nouveau  Tableau  de  Paris  au  XIX'  Siccle, 
published  by  Madame  Bechet,  in  which  appear  the 
following  lines : 

'  There  are  on  the  quays,  on  the  boulevards  near  the 
Louvre,  and  in  a  few  by-streets,  more  than  two  hundred 
second-hand  booksellers.  They  are  the  old-clothes  men 
and  marine-store  dealers  of  the  book-shops.  Their  par- 
ticular business  is  the  buying  at  public  or  private  sales 
of  old  damaged  books.  They  are  the  people  who  can 
supply  you  with  volumes  that  may  be  missing  from  a  set. 
They  also  sell  old  engravings  and  old  drawings,  stowed 
away  anyhow  in  old  portfolios,  and  all  offered  at  the  same 
price  indiscriminately";  that  is  to  say,  for  three  or  four 
sous.  There  are  people  who  spend  their  life  rummaging 
these  stalls  and  portfolios,  and  say  that  from  time  to  time 
they  discover  valuable  originals  and  rare  books  ;  but  the 
frequency  of  these  anecdotes,  the  usual  astuteness  of  the 
old  stall-keepers,  who  make  few  mistakes  regarding  the 
value  of  what  they  possess,  and,  above  all,  the  petty  satis- 
faction of  self-esteem  at  being  thought  to  be  an  accom- 
plished judge,  able  to  pick  out  the  work  of  a  famous  man 
among  a  thousand  other  drawings,  and  other  such  con- 
siderations, have  often  caused  us  to  doubt  the  truth  of 
these  tales.' 

Then  Alphonse  Karr  goes  on  to  describe  the  stall-keepers 
whose  most  obvious  revenue  comes  from  the  schools, 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  51 

which  pour  into  their  hands  the  dictionaries,  Greek, 
French,  and  Latin,  by  way  of  the  young  lads  blushing 
with  shame  and  remorse,  but  desirous  of  indiarubber  balls 
or  apple  turnovers.  With  this  state  of  things  neither 
articles  nor  ordinances  could  do  anything ;  all  schoolboys 
have  sold,  sell,  or  will  sell  their  books ;  all  of  them  have 
gone  the  same  road,  and  even  later  on  at  the  law  school 
or  the  medical  school  have  profited  by  the  facilities  of 
buying  as  you  please  to  acquire  and  promptly  dispose  of 
such  superb  publications  as  Lcs  Arts  Somptuaires  or 
UHistoire  du  Costume  with  the  sole  object  of  procuring 
certain  necessary  pocket-money,  cruelly  denied  by  the 
niggardliness  of  parents. 

Towards  1830  the  stall-keepers  not  only  spread  along 
the  quays,  but  further  invaded  the  little  Rue  Saint  Thomas 
du  Louvre,  as  they  afterwards  came  to  occupy  a  number 
of  huts  in  the  Place  du  Carroussel. 

The  pace  of  the  passers-by  was  then  more  leisurely 
than  it  is  to-day.  As  Nodier  has  well  said,  it  was  the 
golden  age  of  the  open-air  bookseller.  The  learned  and 
fruitful  researches  in  the  boxes  of  the  dealers  were  pro- 
longed for  whole  hours  on  the  parapets  of  the  Seine  ;  the 
learned  Montmerque  book-hunted  on  his  way  to  the 
Palais,  as  also  did  the  wise  Laboudrie  on  his  way  out  of 
the  metropolis.  Nodier,  Barbier,  Peignot,  Lacroix,  even 
Hugo,  were  assiduous  in  their  visits  to  the  land  of  the 
bookstall,  and  life  was  then  more  provincial,  calmer,  and 
happier.  In  this  bright  and  cheery  Paris  of  the  approaches 
to  the  Pont  Neuf  everything  lent  a  pretext  for  a  lounge, 
and  by  the  side  of  the  sellers  of  books  several  street 
singers  had  taken  up  their  stand  to  attract  the  students 
of  the  ballad,  the  workmen,  and  the  dilatory  crowd  easily 
moved  by  some  amorous  or  sentimental  romance  in  the 
style  of  Beranger  and  his  disciples. 

Why  should  they  not  linger  by  these  banks  full  of  books 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


which  occasionally  yielded  a  fortune  to  the  passing  biblio- 
philes, if  we  are  to  believe  the  enthusiasm  of  our  prede- 
cessors ? 

'  It  is  on  the  quays,'  exclaims  Jules  Janin  with  frenzy, 
'  that  there  have  been  found,  without  coat  or  cloak, 
La  Danse  aux  Aveugles,  La  Chasse  Royale,  La  Discours 
merveillenx  dc  la  Vie,  Actions  et  Deportements  de  Catherine  dc 


M/dicis  (1650).  For  the  six  sous  that  remained  to  him 
Nodier  bought  Le  Songe  de  Poliphile,  printed  at  Venice  by 
the  Aldi,  and  which  he  sold  again  for  one  hundred  and 
thirty-five  francs.  The  quays  of  Paris  have  long  been  the 
enchanted  theatre  of  these  dramas,  and  have  always  been 
of  incomparable  interest.  At  each  of  these  discoveries 
one  might  say  that  the  Seine  herself  welcomed  the  good 
fortune  with  her  gentlest  murmur!' 


HISTORIC  PROLEGOMENA  53 

A  certain  amount  of  legend  in  these  fabulous  tales  of 
white  blackbirds  is  unavoidable.  At  the  very  date  of 
these  ecstasies  of  the  worthy  Janin,  Nodier  himself  in 
despair  was  anathematizing  the  stall-keepers  of  1831  as 
follows  : 

'  Things  are  worse  than  ever  on  the  quays,  where  one 
sees  only  the  silly  odds  and  ends  of  this  modern  literature, 
which  will  never  be  ancient  literature,  and  the  life  of 
which  will  evaporate  in  twenty-four  hours,  like  that  of 
the  flies  of  the  river  Hypanis !  It  is  to  profane  the 
name  of  book  to  give  it  to  these  black,  blotted  rags 
which  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  changed  their  lot  since 
leaving  the  basket  of  the  rag-pickers.  The  quays  will 
henceforth  be  but  the  Morgue  of  contemporary  cele- 
brities.' 

Which  will  you  believe,  Janin,  in  1867,  speaking  of  the 
marvels  of  1830,  or  Nodier,  in  1830,  despairing  of  any 
rinds  at  that  epoch  ?  Is  it  all  nothing  but  illusion  ? 
Alas  !  the  more  we  inquire  into  it  the  more  we  think  so. 

Since  the  edicts  we  have  just  quoted — the  last  dated 
1829 — the  stall-keepers  have  not  been  molested  by  the 
authorities.  About  1866  there  was  serious  talk  of  ex- 
pelling them  from  the  quays  and  offering  them  a  domi- 
cile in  the  old  poultry-market,  called  La  Vallee,  which 
the  opening  of  the  Halles  Centrales  had  left  vacant  on 
the  Quai  des  Grands-Augustins,  where  there  is  now  a 
depot  of  the  Omnibus  Company. 

A  large  book-market  would  have  been  opened  there,  as 
in  certain  towns  in  Germany,  and  the  quays  would  have 
been  cleared  of  the  temporary  stalls.  This  was,  at  least, 
the  dream  of  Baron  Haussmann,  but  learned  Parisians 
pleaded  before  Napoleon  III.  the  cause  of  the  riparian 
literature  of  the  Seine,  and  the  owners  of  the  twopenny- 
halfpenny  boxes  were  again  saved  for  a  time. 

Since   1880  the  trade  of  second-hand   bookseller   has 


54  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

become  an  open  one,  as  will  be  seen  in  our  physiological 
chapter  regarding  these  gentlemen  ;  and  for  the  last  ten 
years  the  quays  have  been  absolutely  loaded.     There  is 
not  a  place  vacant  on   the  left  bank  between  the  Pont 
Royal  and  the  Pont  Notre-Dame,  and  already  the  right 
bank  possesses  a  few  stalls  on  the  parapets  which  pre- 
viously had  not  been  hidden    by  any   portable   library. 
We  will  show  further  on  that  the  trade  is  not  always  a 
rosy  one,  and  that  the  competition  is  severe  ;  but  many 
prefer  it  to  regular  occupation  in  a  well-warmed  office, 
where  the    attendance-book  constitutes  the  essential  cer- 
tificate of  work — and  we  cannot  say  that  they  are  entirely 
wrong.     The  trade  is  independent,    healthy,   and   takes 
you  where  the  life  of  the  towns  touches  on  the  life   of 
the  fields,  whence  most  of  these  worthy  fellows  come ; 
then  hope  gleams  on  the  horizon,  for  if  for  a  few  impe- 
cunious booksellers  stall-keeping  is  the  last  step  of  the 
trade,  for  many  of  the  cautious  Normans  the  parapet  of 
the   quays  is   the  pedestal  of  the  well-patronized  shop. 
As   a  lamented  booklover   once   remarked,  many  book- 
sellers have   started   from   them  and  many  have   ended 
there. 

And  among  these  amiable  and  wise  peripatetics  that  is 
a  permanent  subject  for  philosophizing. 


THE    STALL-KEEPERS    WHO 
APPEARED. 


HAVE    DIS- 


A   FEW   TYPES   AND    PORTRAITS. 

UCH  a  heading  might  at  first  lead  one  to 
expect  impossible  resurrections.  Alas  !  we 
have  neither  found  nor  sought  to  find  the 
Vale  of  Jehoshaphat  of  the  bookstall- 
keepers  from  the  earliest  times,  and  no  one  has  thought 
of  inviting  us  to  a  rehearsal,  even  undress,  of  this  scene, 
a  very  special  one,  in  the  grand  apotheosis  of  the  Last 
Judgment. 

Hence,  even  in  these  days,  when  familiarities  with  the 
invisible  world  exceed  all  bounds  of  discretion  and 
respect,  we  will  in  no  way  evoke  the  shades  of  the  stall- 


56  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


keepers  of  ages  gone  by,  whose  books,  packed  on  the 
quays  from  the  Rue  Git-le-Cceur  to  the  Rue  de  Seine, 
furnished  so  many  finds  to  Naude,  the  '  grand  romancer  ' 
of  Cardinal  Mazarin.  Neither  will  we  endeavour  to  inter- 
view beyond  the  tomb,  with  an  instantaneous  camera  in 
our  hat,  the  shades  of  those  old  book-strugglers  who, 
after  having  successively  conquered  the  quays  on  the 
left  bank,  invaded  at  one  time  all  the  Pont  Neuf,  leaving 
to  their  bookselling  posterity  rights  henceforth  immov- 
ably based  on  the  registered  granite  of  the  Seine  para- 
pets. 

The  '  Grand  Nocturnal  Review  of  the  Bookstall- 
keepers  '  is  to  come,  and  the  subject  may  have  its  at- 
tractions for  us  ;  but  in  this  work  it  would  take  too 
long,  and  there  is  some  risk  that  it  might  be  out  of  place. 

If  the  airy  spirits  of  the  stall-keepers  of  a  hundred 
years  and  more  ago  are  at  large  to-day,  we  should  have 
some  remorse  in  making  them  enter  a  table-leg  or  a  slate 
and  pencil  to  speak  or  write  of  their  remembrances ;  if 
they  still  float  around  where  they  lived,  bought  and  sold, 
they  must  feel  some  pleasure  at  seeing  how  the  line  of  the 
superb  boxes  of  their  successors  has  extended  beyond  the 
old  limits. 

After  the  edict  of  1649,  the  Pont  Neuf,  it  is  true,  was 
not  recaptured  save,  as  we  have  said,  under  the  Revolu- 
tion.     But    the    entire 

line  of  the  quays  is  to~ 

day  occupied  from  the 
Pont  Notre -Dame  up 
to  the  Pont  Royal,  and 
a  beginning  has  been  made  beyond  this  bridge,  on  the 
Quai  d'Orsay,  with  a  view  to  further  extension.  The 
right  bank  is  attacked  ;  sporadic  spots,  growing  larger 
every  year,  are  noticeable  at  irregular  intervals  from  the 
Tuileries  to  the  Arsenal.  The  parapets  belong  definitely 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED     57 


to  the  bookstall  ;  and  to  proclaim  the  universality  of  its 
conquest,  the  bookstall  has  just  installed  itself  at  a  bound 
across  the  Esplanade  des  Invalides,  on  the  little  parapet 
of  the  ditch  behind  which  the  inoffensive  bronze  cannon 
play  at  defending  the  gilded  dome  where  shelter  the  com- 
rades, variously  damaged,  of  the  legendary  hero  with  the 
wooden  head. 

These  ancestral  spirits  ought  to  be  equally  flattered  at 
the  comfort  and  solidity  of  the  new  installations.     They 


may  perhaps  treat  their  successors  as  aristos,  as  loafers 
and  sybarites,  when  they  look  at  their  new  arrangements. 
Fine  boxes  lined  with  zinc,  with  lids  that  rise  and  form  a 
sloping  roof,  are  locked  down  every  night  to  the  iron  bars 
which  are  embedded  in  the  granite.  The  daily  bringing 
and  removing,  the  ex- 
penditure of  money  and 
muscular  force  required 
by  the  wheelbarrow, 
which  had  to  be  loaded, 
dragged,  and  unloaded 
twice  a  day,  morning 

and  evening,  are  in  great  part  suppressed.    The  books,  less 
rubbed  and  knocked  about,  are  less  damaged,  keep  their 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


price  longer,  and  are  in  better  form  for  the  attraction  of 
the  customer.  Two  or  three  electric  lamps  judiciously 
placed  enable  the  seller  of  old  books  to  keep  open  his 
stall  at  night.  There  are  among  the  innovating  spirits  of 
the  corporation  some  who  have  already  thought  of  this  ; 
apply  to  M.  Jacques,  whose  stall  is  on  the  Quai  Conti. 
And  what  could  be  more  delightful  and  charming  than  a 
stroll  along  the  quays  on  a  summer  evening  from  nine 
o'clock  to  midnight  under  such  conditions?  There  is  one 
obstacle  to  this,  it  is  true,  which  does  not  arise  from 
police  regulations,  nor  from  difficulties  of  management, 
but  from  the  indifference  and  apathy,  if  not  the  idleness, 
of  the  dealers. 

Go  along  the  quays  on  a  Sunday  ;  there  is  scarcely  one 
stall  open  in  twenty.  There  are  other  reasons,  of  course 
—and  I  admit  they  are  good  ones  —  the  Sunday  observ- 
ance ;  a  well-earned  rest  ;  a  trip  into  the  country,  cheap, 
but  healthy  and  exhilarating,  with  the  wife  and  children  ; 
and  the  fewness  of  the  customers,  who  do  not  crowd  to 
the  quays  on  that  day.  We  have  nothing  to  say  against 
all  this  ;  religious  principles  and  sanitary  precautions  are 
entitled  to  respect.  But  you  do  not  shut  up  shop  when 
you  want  to  sell,  and  the  dozen  of  obstinate  heretical 
stall-holders  who  offer  their  wares  to  the  book-hunters  on 
Sundays  as  on  other  days  have  no  reason  to  complain  of 
the  customers,  few  and  various  as  they  may  be. 

How  many  men  of  study  of  all  degrees  of  science  and 
erudition,  dwellers  on  the  left  bank,  which  is  as  it  were 
the  intellectual  plexus  of  Paris,  would  spend  a  few  hours 
of  their  Sundays  on  the  quays  in  a  seductive  and  useful 
lounge,  from  which  their  university  and  other  occupations 
debar  them  at  any  other  time  !  Most  of  these  now  stay 
away,  not  caring  to  pass  in  review  the  lids  beneath  which 
are  hidden  the  very  books  they  wish  to  consult  on  that 
day.  The  disappointment  is  really  painful,  and  one  can 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED     59 

have  too  much  of  it,  although  book-hunting  on  the  quays 
has  its  disappointments,  even  on  working  days.  But  the 
chances  are  less  than  on  the  Sundays,  though  they  exist, 
and  every  buyer  of  old  books  is  to  his  sorrow  obliged  to 
admit  it  bitterly. 

The  day  of  the  most  matutinal  stall-keepers  does  not 
begin  until  nine  o'clock.  Then  one  by  one,  at  long  in- 
tervals, the  stalls  begin  to  open  as  if  with  regret.  The  dealers 
who  have  not  yet  availed  themselves  of  the  privilege  of 
starting  a  permanent 
stall  arrive  between 
the  shafts  of  a  little 
barrow  more  or  less 
heavily  loaded.  They 
lay  out  their  boxes 
side  by  side,  with 
astonishing  delibera- 
tion and  an  entire 
absence  of  haste  ; 
then,  leaving  them 
there,  duly  tied  up  with  string  or  padlocked,  they  take  back 
their  empty  barrow ;  but  to  avoid  having  to  shut  up  a 
second  time,  and  out  of  pure  desire  to  save  time,  they  do 
not  return  until  they  have  had  their  luncheon.  In  this 
way  they  form  their  rank,  some  coming,  others  going, 
from  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  until  one  in  the  afternoon. 
By  that  time  all  the  boxes  are  open,  or  nearly  all ;  and 
there  ought  to  be  a  keeper  at  every  stall.  Most  of  them, 
however,  are  away ;  one  is  away  on  business,  another  is 
taking  a  walk,  another  is  having  a  drink  and  talking 
politics  at  the  bar  close  by.  Often  a  keeper  is  in  charge 
of  two  or  three  stalls ;  if  he  has  a  buyer  at  each  of  the 
three  at  the  same  time,  how  can  he  attend  to  them  all  ? 

Besides,  it  is  not  for  him  to  give  any  particulars  about 
the  books  that  do  not  belong  to  him,  nor  to  take  any 


6o  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

deductions  from  the  price  the  customer  is  asked  ;  for  his 
neighbours  all  he  can  do  is  to  sell  at  marked  prices,  with- 
out endeavouring  in  any  way  to  interest  the  inquirer. 

To  which  of  us  has  it  not  happened  to  take  up  a  book 
out  of  the  box  and,  finding  it  worth  buying,  to  have  to 
sweep  the  horizon  to  the  right,,  the  left,  the  rear,  and  give 
a  vigorous  '  Pst !  pst !  pst !'  and  shout  '  Who  looks  after 
this  stall  ?'  without  anybody  appearing  or  replying  ? 

When  the  price  is  marked  on  the  box,  and  the  wish  to 
have  the  book  is  strong,  we  risk  doing  as  we  do  at  a 
newspaper  kiosk  when  there  is  nobody  there,  and  we  take 
the  volume  and  leave  the  money  in  its  place.  So  much 
the  worse  if  someone  comes  after  us  and  gives  the  half- 
pence left  out  in  the  cold  the  more  rational  shelter  of  his 
pocket.  But  if  the  book  is  among  those  labelled  "  various 
prices,"  what  is  to  be  done  beyond  putting  it  back  in  its 
place  and  moving  off  with  a  grunt  against  all  absent 
loafers  ?  The  dealer  is  the  victim,  and  herein  loses  one  of 
his  chief  chances  of  profit. 

The  shortcomings  of  the  stall-keepers — we  should  not 
be  their  true  friend  if  we  were  afraid  to  point  them  out — 
are,  after  all,  venial,  and  distinguished  by  a  sort  of  banter- 
ing and  superior  philosophy  which 
is  rather  amusing  to  analyse.  We 
may  perhaps  have  an  opportunity 
of  doing  this.  Anyhow,  their 
indifference  receives  a  vigorous 
shock  as  soon  as  anything  is  said 
concerning  their  rights,  or  their 
institution,  as  we  may  call  it. 

It  will  have  been  seen  that  it  is  not  without  vicissitude 
and  struggle  that  they  gained  the  tranquil  enjoyment  of 
the  parapets  of  old  Paris,  to  fix  themselves  there,  and  to 
encrust  themselves  there  immovably,  like  certain  shellfish 
on  the  rock. 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED    61 


It  is  not  such  a  very  long  time  ago  that  they  were  in 
danger  of  being  purely  and  simply  '  Haussmannized  '- 
that  is  to  say,  swept  away  like  old  rags  by  the  prefectural 
administration. 

The  Baron — to  whom  the  building  trade  is  unpardon- 
able for  riot  having  erected  a  statue  in  stone,  lath  and 
plaster — was  most  anxious  to  clear  the  quays.  Such 
irregular  and  curious  excrescences  vexed  his  aesthetic  soul. 
This  long,  low  wall  seemed  to  him  much  finer,  much 
nobler,  much  more  rectilineal,  cleared  of  parasite?,  cleaned 
with  potash,  and  rubbed  with  pumice.  He  dreamt  of  the 
quays  of  Paris,  clean,  tidy  and  correct,  and  to  realize  his 
ideal  of  the  long  strip  of  stone  he  thought  it  was  only 
necessary  to  drive  away  the  stall- keepers  : — an  Edict,  and 
there  was  an  end  of  the  matter. 

But  it  did  not  do,  and  on  that  occasion  the  great 
Prefect  could  neither  expel  nor  expropriate.  The  alarm- 
cry  of  the  threatened  people  found  an  echo.  We  know 
the  part  of  saviour  which  on  that  occasion  was  played  by 
their  faithful  friend,  the  good,  the  learned,  the  witty  and 
lamented  Bibliophile  Jacob.  He  went  straight  to  the 
Emperor,  and  so  worked  on  the  humanitarian  side  of  that 
old  suppressor  of  pauperism  that  he  got  him  to  take  the 
stall-keepers  under  his  protection.  The  monarch  con- 
descended to  visit  the  stall-keepers  with  the  Bibliophile  as 
his  guide.  Dear  old  Paul  Lacroix,  about  1880,  when  the 
Arsenal  evenings  were  coming  to  an  end,  used  to  delight 
in  relating  the  active  part  he  took  in  the  affair,  and  it  was 
a  pleasure  to  listen  to  him. 

On  that  memorable  day  when  it  was  a  matter  of  life 
and  death  for  the  stall-holders,  one  of  them,  already  well 
known,  found  a  way — assuredly  without  seeking  it,  and  in 
the  pure  innocence  of  his  heart — of  making  himself  for 
ever  illustrious. 

As  the  Emperor  passed,  in  the  course  of  his  visit,'  along 


62 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


the  Quai  Malaquais,  opposite  the  Rue  de  Saints  Peres,  he 
saw  an  old  man  warming  himself  chillily  at  a  fire  of 
papers  in  a  portable  stove.  From  time  to  time  he  took  a 
volume  from  a  pile  of  books  by  his  side  and  tore  out  a 

handful  of  leaves  to  feed  the 
fire.  The  Emperor  approached 
and,  with  some  interest,  wished 
to  know  what  work  was  thought 
so  valueless  as  to  be  used  as  a 
combustible.  Pere  Foy — who 
is  not  acquainted  with  his  re- 
putation to-day? — quietly  handed 
the  volume  to  his  Sovereign,  and 
Napoleon  III.  read  with  stupe- 
faction the  head-line  in  these 
triumphal  words  :  '  CONQUETES 

ET   VlCTOIRES    DES    FRANCAIS.' 

What  thoughts  coursed  through  the  troubled  soul  of 
the  terrible  crowned  dreamer  when  he  saw  this  book, 
specially  written  to  light  and  feed  the  flame  in  the  people's 
hearts,  used  as  a  means  of  heat  for  the  decrepit  body  of  an 
old  bookstall  man  ? 

Perhaps  he  had  no  thoughts  ;  the  pallid  smile  of  the 
mighty — happily  for  them — has  often  covered  their  unin- 
telligence  of  the  eternal  and  amusing  irony  of  things.  The 
wandering  fancy  of  the  Emperor  may  or  may  not  have 
remarked  it ;  but  Pere  Foy  was  a  type  which  deserves  a 
moment's  notice. 

Let  us  not  attempt  too  much  in  this  restoration  of 
outline  portraits,  endeavouring  rather  to  accept  only  such 
documents  and  pictures  as  rest  on  oral  tradition  or 
living  memory.  It  would  undoubtedly  have  pleased  us 
to  rummage  the  past  and  speak  of  types  long  since 
vanished  of  those  of  the  First  Empire  and  the  Restora- 
tion. A  detailed  circumstantial  portrait  of  Achaintre, 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED     63 


the  legendary  scholar  whose  editions  were  appreciated 
by  the  Latinists  and  Hellenists,  might  evidently  attract 
us,  and  as  the  good  old  fellow  has  to  a  certain  extent 
excited  the  fervour  of  our  aged  bibliographers,  the  task 
would  have  been  easy.  But  would  not  that  lead  us  away 
from  our  already  extensive  subject  ?  Should  we  not 
rather  speak  of  Lesne,  who  was  so  famous  on  the  quays 
about  1840,  or  even  allude  to  the  forgotten,  like  Durand, 
whose  stall  was  near  the  Cafe  d'Orsay,  and  who,  by 
investing  his  profits  from  bookselling  in  landed  property, 
managed  to  secure  an  income,  honestly  earnt,  of  six 
thousand  livres  a  year  ? 

This  excursion,  too  retrospective,  and  consequently  too 
particular,  cannot  be  undertaken  here  ;  and  out  of  con- 
sideration for  the  harmony  of  this  book  we  must  restrict 
our  attention  to  the  immediate  predecessors  of  contem- 
porary stall-keepers. 

Let  us  first  speak  of  Pere  Foy.  Pere  Foy  was.  not  a 
bookstall  man  by  birth  ;  one  is  not  born  a  bookseller,  but 
becomes  it.  A  legendary  and  respectable  past  surrounded 
him.  His  name  had  not  been  revealed  to  the  public, 
undoubtedly ;  but  who  does  not  know  that  in  the  world 
of  failures  every  masterpiece  hides  some  unknown  assist- 
ant ?  Ah  !  if  Scribe  could  tell  everything,  what  did  he  not 
owe  to  Pere  Foy  ? 

Such  was  the  language  of  enthusiasts.  Others,  less 
credulous  or  better  informed,  did  not  deny  the  influence 
exercised  by  Pere  Foy  on  the  dramatic  art  in  France  ; 
but  they  limited  the  sphere  of  action  to  the  seats  of  the 
Romans  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  pit  of  the  Comedie,  where  Pere 
Foy  was  for  a  long  time  a  chief  of  the  claque. 

What  adventure  took  him  from  the  seat  in  the  theatre 
and  threw  him  on  to  the  quay  ?  Perhaps  a  passion  for 
business,  an  ambition  to  go  into  trade ;  assuredly  no 
reason  disgraceful  or  unavowable,  for  at  first  his  only 


64  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  L\  PARIS 


customers  were  of  the  world  of  theatres,  artists  and 
authors.  His  business,  it  may  easily  be  believed,  con- 
sisted chiefly  in  words;  rarely  indeed  did  he  part  with  a 
book  for  its  representative  value  in  money.  This  artistic 
and  literary  patronage,  of  which  he  loved  to  boast,  brought 
him  into  relief  among  his  fellow  stall-holders,  but  did  not 
result  in  much  profit.  The  fire,  however,  which  devoured 
the  greater  part  of  his  stock  of  books  at  his  poor 
lodgings  in  the  Rue  Mazarine  was  a  regular  stroke  of 
luck  for  him.  This  fire  from  the  sky  brought  him  fifteen 
thousand  francs,  cash  down,  paid  by  the  insurance 
company.  For  him  it  was  the  treasure  of  Golconda,  the 
greatest  prize  of  his  life. 

Henceforth  Pere  Foy  did  nothing ;  he  did  not  renew 
his  books ;  he  did  not  change  his  clothes  ;  he  let  his  feet 
protrude  beyond  his  socks;  all  the  shirt  he  had  was  just 
enough  to  carry  a  collar.  Providence  had  shown  him  the 
destination  of  his  books ;  of  those  he  had  left  he  made 
fuel,  and  to  the  end  of  his  life  they  served  him  for  cooking 
and  warmth.  But  all  the  same  he  came  on  to  the  quay 
and  laid  out  his  boxes,  which  got  emptier  and  emptier  as 
he  got  raggeder  and  raggeder,  and  yet  always  so  proud 
in  his  rags  that  he  would  allow  no  one  to  replace  them. 

'  Who  could  buy  such  horrors  ?'  exclaimed  a  lady  one 
day  as  she  passed  by  on  her  husband's  arm,  glancing  at 
the  volumes,  torn,  cockled,  greasy,  and  dusty,  which  still 
lay  in  lamentable  fewness  on  the  good  man's  stall.  Stung 
to  the  quick,  he  rose,  and  with  a  gesture  worthy  of 
Frederick  Lemaitre  he  replied,  '  They  are  the  works  of  the 
learned,  madame  !'  The  truth  being  that  the  poor  old 
books  which  fate  had  preserved  from  the  fire  were  hardly 
worth  tearing  up. 

A  subject  worthy  of  a  heroico-comic  epic,  if  there  is  a 
poet  left  to  write  it,  was  the  Homeric  strife  by  words,  if 
not  by  blows,  sustained  for  many  years  by  these  rival 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS   WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED     65 

stall-keepers.  Each  of  the  three  claimed  to  be  the  eldest 
of  the  corporation.  It  would  appear  that  the  difference 
could  be  easily  settled  by  a  glance  at  the  birth  certi- 
ficates of  the  pretenders.  But  to  be  a  simplicist  you 
must  have  great  knowledge  or  great  ignorance,  and 
our  stall-keepers  had  but  a  moderate  dose  of  either,  and 
cunning  had  woven  its  web  in  all  the  corners  of  their 
brain. 

One,  Pere  Rosez,  said,  not  without  apparent  logic,  '  I 
am  the  oldest,  therefore  I  am  the  senior.'  '  Undoubtedly,' 
said  the  others,  '  but  you  are  comparatively  young  amongst 
us.'  And  when  he  died  at  the  age  of  eighty-three,  like 
the  poet  Tennyson,  he  had  only  been  twenty  years  on  the 
quays. 

His  tardy  entry  into  second-hand  bookselling  had  been 
caused  by  home  troubles  daily  renewed.  His  wife,,  who 
managed  a  stationery  shop  in  the  Rue  des  Saints-Peres, 
did  not  care  about  giving  him  pocket-money  for  his 
tobacco.  Hence  quarrels,  which  the  good  man's  peevish 
humour  made  the  most  of.  In  short,  he  resolved  to  earn 
his  tobacco  himself,  and  he  carried  to  a  vacant  spot  on 
the  Quai  Voltaire  four  boxes,  neither  more  nor  less,  full  of 
soiled  and  worthless  books,  whence  emerged  Abe'cedaires 
and  Oracles  dcs  Dames.  The  sale  of  these  two  works 
assured  his  daily  income,  which  rarely  exceeded  four- 
pence.  But  nevertheless  he  bore  his  dignity  as  stall- 
keeper  very  high,  and  would  put  up  with  injury 
from  neither  the  public  nor  his  colleagues.  For  his  four 
boxes  he  occupied  several  yards  of  the  quay,  and  if  his 
neighbour  to  the  right  or  left,  encumbered  with  goods, 
encroached  ever  so  little  over  the  limits  there  was  a 
great  disturbance.  It  was  worth  while  to  watch  him 
clearing  his  preserves,  bundling  up  the  usurping  books 
and  pushing  them  over  the  frontier ;  then  he  would  put 
his  four  boxes  close  together,  and,  to  assert  his  claim 

5 


66  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

more  strongly,  would  leave  vacant  all  the  space  he  had 
reconquered. 

The  second  pretender  to  seniority  also  rested  his  claim 
on  age.  Whether  older  or  younger  than  Rosez — the 
question  was,  I  believe,  never  decided — Pere  Malorey,  a 
Norman  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Coutances,  was  in  his 
eighty-second  year  when  he  died  in  January,  1890.  He 
was  certainly  brought  up  in  the  trade,  having  begun  in 
1825  with  Madame  Joly,  also  a  Norman,  who  sold  music 
and  prints  at  a  shop,  not  yet  demolished,  at  the  Institute. 
Everyone  knew  his  stall  on  the  Quai  Conti,  at  the  corner 
of  the  Pont  des  Arts,  which  he  occupied  for  sixty-two 
years.  He  often  had  interesting  books,  but  he  knew 
their  value  and  stuck  to  his  price.  Strictly  honest,  he 
often  did  a  good  turn  to  the  public  libraries  by  handing 
them  over  stolen  books  which  chance  had  brought  to 
him.  He  showed  with  pride  a  letter  from  M.  Leopold 
Delisle,  thanking  him  in  his  own  name  and  in  that  of  his 
colleagues  for  a  service  of  this  kind.  He  was  even 
prouder  of  the  evidence  he  gave  in  favour  of  a  pupil  of 
the  Institute  accused  of  theft  from  the  Mazarine 
library.  To  save  the  innocent,  said  Papa  Malorey,  was 
better  than  repairing  the  fault  of  the  guilty. 

Known  and  esteemed  by  the  world  of  booksellers, 
bibliophiles,  and  the  learned,  who  found  books  at  his 
stall  and  information  in  his  talk,  Pere  Malorey  had  his 
name  brought  before  the  public  by  M.  Tony  Revillon,  in 
an  article  in  La  Petite  Prcsse  (September  i,  1868)  with 
regard  to  his  generous  conduct  towards  his  ruined 
brother,  whose  goods  he  bought  in.  A  pamphlet  pub- 
lished at  his  death  by  M.  Victor  Advielle,  under  the  title 
of  Notice  sur  M.  Malorey,  Doyen  des  Bouquinistes  Francais 
(imp.  E.  Watelet,  1890,  8vo.  5  pp.),  gives  all  these  details 
and  others  equally  curious. 

Often  on  a  sunny  day  have  we  chatted  for  an  hour 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED    67 

with  this  good  man,  whose  judgment,  good  sense,  and  per- 
spicacity on  everything  about  old  books  were  worth  con- 
sulting, and  whose  mimicry  during  his  digressions  was 
very  amusing. 

Rosez  claimed  seniority  on  the  ground  of  age  ;  Malorey 
disputed  this,  adding  that  it  was  the  years  spent  in  the 
business  which  conferred  the  right  to  the  title,  and  that 
he  had  been  on  the  quays  forty  years  before  Rosez 
appeared  there  for  the  first  time.  A  third,  '  M.  Debas,' 
as  he  called  himself  with  respect,  was  a  little  younger  than 
the  other  two  ;  but  he  had  started  his  stall  a  little  before 
Malorey  had  established  his,  and,  adopting  the  same 
reasoning  as  to  the  time  spent  in  the  trade,  claimed  for 
himself  the  glorious  title  of  Doyen  des  Bonquinistes. 

In  one  of  his  gossiping  papers  in  the  Temps  on  the 
reception  of  Leconte  de  Lisle  at  the  Academy,  M.  Anatole 
France,  himself  a  child  of  the  quays  and  son  of  the 
book-shop,  on  coming  away  from  this  sitting  of  the 
Institute,  of  which  he  was  soon  to  become  a  member, 
tried  his  hand  at  a  charming  sketch  of  Pere  Debas,  then 
become  very  old  and  '  quite  little '  with  age  (April  3, 
1887). 

'  Every  year  his  height  grows  less,  and  his  stall  grows 
smaller  and  lighter.  If  death  leaves  my  old  friend  a 
little  longer  to  live,  a  puff  of  wind  will  some  day  carry 
him  off  with  the  last  pages  of  his  books  and  the  few  oats 
that  the  neighbouring  horses  drop  from  their  gray  nose- 
bags. Meanwhile,  he  is  almost  happy.  If  he  is  poor,  he 
does  not  think  about  it.  He  does  not  sell  his  books,  but 
he  reads  them.  He  is  an  artist  and  a  philosopher. 

'  When  it  is  fine  he  enjoys  the  gentle  ease  of  living  in 
the  open  air.  He  sits  down  at  the  end  of  a  bench  with  a 
pot  of  glue  and  a  pencil,  and  as  he  mends  his  damaged 
books  he  meditates  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  He 
interests  himself  in  politics,  and  wants  nothing  if  he 


68 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


meets  an  undoubted  customer  with  whom  he  can  criti- 
cise the  existing  state  of  affairs.  He  is  an  aristocrat,  and 
even  an  oligarch.  The  habit  of  seeing  in  front  of  him 
across  the  Seine  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries  has  inocu- 
lated him  with  a  sort  of  familiarity  with  regard  to 
sovereigns.  Under  the  Empire  he  criticised  Napoleon  III. 
with  the  severity  of  a  neighbour  whom  nothing  escapes. 
Now  he  explains  by  the  conduct  of  the  Government  the 
vicissitudes  of  his  trade.  I  do  not  deny  that  my  old 
friend  is  somewhat  of  a  grumbler. 

'  He  hails  me,  and  says  like  a  man  who  has  read  his 
morning  paper,  "  You  come  from  the  Academy.  Did  the 
young  people  speak  well  of  M.  Hugo  ?"  Then  with  a 
wink  he  whispers  me  in  my  ear,  "  A  bit  of  a  demagogue 
is  M.  Hugo  !" 

M.  Debas — you  will  not  be  surprised  at  it — made  up 
his  stock  of  books  in  his  own  image.  Modern  roman- 

cists  were  proscribed  by 
him,  and  he  rarely  had 
a  book  printed  within 
less  than  a  century ; 
but  if  a  sympathetic 
buyer,  especially  a  priest 
—his  connection  among 
priests  was  his  honour 
and  his  joy — consulted 
him  regarding  a  volume 
of  the  '  grand  siecle,'  the 
good  man  would  pour 
forth  all  his  erudition, 
and  end  by  declaring 
his  vehement  enthusi- 
asm for  the  past  and  his  savage  contempt  for  the  present. 
One  event  had  made  a  deep  impression  on  the  life  of 
this  excellent  man.  At  a  session  of  the  assizes  he  had 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED    69 


been  put  on  the  list  of  jurors.  He  was  never  tired  of 
relating  this  memorable  fact,  finding  himself  every  time 
he  told  the  tale  in  the  same  state  of  mind  in  which  such 
very  dissimilar  circumstances  had  plunged  him.  One  of 
his  young  colleagues  many  times  heard  him  tell  the 
story.  One  day  he  told  it  to  us,  and  I  am  of  opinion 
that,  in  spite  of  its  length,  no  editorial  artifice  could  im- 
prove his  sincere  and  simple  tautology.  It  was  enough 
to  ask  him  the  question,  '  Have  you  ever  been  on  a 
jury,  M.  Debas  ?'  and  immediately,  like  water  from  an 
overflowing  basin,  he  would  launch  forth  with  untiring 
animation  : 

'  Yes,  sir  ;  it  was  in  1872.  I  then  lived  at  the  Hotel 
du  Prince  de  Chimay,  opposite  my  stall.  I  lived  eighteen 
years  there,  monsieur,  and  was  well  liked.  I  lived  there 
with  my  poor  wife.  She  is  dead,  sir;  we  had  been 
married  for  twenty-eight  years.  You  will  understand  I 

could,  not  live  in  the  same 

room     after     that.      The 

evening  I  went  back  I  saw 

my  poor  dead  wife  in  all 

its  corners.    Twenty-eight 

years,  sir.     Ah,  it  is  very 

sorrowful  to  be  alone  !' 
'And     the    jury,    M. 

Debas  ?' 

'  Ah,   yes,   the    jury — it 

was    in     1872,    monsieur. 

One  day  there  was  a  ring 

at  my  door.     I  opened  it, 

and  saw  a  gendarme. 
'  "  M.    Debas,     if    you 

please  ?"    "  I  am  he,  monsieur."     "  Well,  M.  Debas,  here 

is  an  invitation  to  the  assizes ;    you  are  on  the  jurv." 

"  Oh,  monsieur;  but  there  must  be  a  mistake.     I  am  not 


70  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

a  bookseller;  I  am  a  bookstall-keeper,  and  never  did  a 
bookstall-keeper  serve  on  a  jury."  "You  are  really 
M.  Louis-Jean  Debas  ?"  "  Yes,  monsieur."  "  And  you 
were  really  born  on  the  gth  of  April,  1812?"  "Yes, 
monsieur."  "  Then  the  invitation  is  for  you." 

'  I  was  very  much  upset,  for  I  am  not  rich.  It  is 
necessary  for  me  to  earn  my  daily  bread  every  day,  and  I 
could  not  put  my  poor  suffering  wife  at  the  stall.  I  tried 
to  find  out  the  name  of  the  President  of  the  assizes.  It 
was  a  M.  de  Lafaulotte,  who  was  one  of  my  customers. 
Then  I  went  to  him.  I  rang ;  the  door  was  opened,  and 
I  asked :  "  M.  de  Lafaulotte,  if  you  please  ?"  "  He  is 
here,  monsieur."  "Can  I  speak  to  him?"  "Yes, 
monsieur,  if  you  will  come  in." 

'  I  was  shown  into  a  room,  and  there  I  saw  M.  de 
Lafaulotte,  whom  I  knew  well.  I  took  off  my  hat,  I 
went  forward,  and  I  said  :  "  Good-morning,  monsieur ; 
you  don't  recognise  me,  but  I  know  you  well.  I  am 
M.  Debas;  I  sell  second-hand  books  opposite  the  Hotel 
du  Prince  de  Chimay,  and  I  have  had  the  honour  to  sell 
you  a  few."  "  Ah  !  very  good,  very  good  !  I  know  you. 
Well,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  my  good  fellow?"  "  Mon- 
sieur, I  have  received  a  summons  for  the  assizes  ;  I  am 
on  the  jury ;  but,  monsieur,  I  do  not  keep  a  bookshop — 
mine  is  only  a  bookstall,  and  never  has  a  bookstall  man 
been  on  a  jury.  And  I  am  not  rich ;  I  have  daily  to  earn 
my  daily  bread,  and  it  would  be  a  serious  loss  to  me  to 
be  away  from  my  stall,  because  I  could  not  put  my  wife 
in  charge  of  it,  as  she  is  ill ;  and  so  I  came  to  see  if  there 
is  any  way  by  which  I  can  be  struck  off  the  jury  list." 
Then  M.  de  Lafaulotte  said  to  me:  "  Listen,  my  good 
friend  :  it  would  cost  you  more  time  to  get  struck  off  the 
list  than  to  attend  on  this  occasion ;  come,  then,  and 
when  I  can  I  will  excuse  you.  You  are  an  honest  man, 
monsieur;  good-day,  sir;  good-day,  my  friend." 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED     71 


'  And,  in  fact,  I  went  to  the  assizes.  But  the  first  day, 
after  the  names  had  been  called,  M.  de  Lafaulotte  said: 
"  I  excuse  M.  Debas — I  excuse  M.  Debas."  Then  I 
stepped  towards  the  Procureur  Royal.' 

'  De  la  Republique,  M.  Debas.' 

'  Ah !  yes,  yes.  I  stepped  towards  the  Procureur 
Royal,  and  I  said  to  him :  "  Pardon,  M.  le  Procureur, 
the  President  has  said,  '  I  excuse  M.  Debas ' ;  am  I 
free  ?"  "  Yes,  my  good  friend,  you  are  free ;  but  you 
must  be  here  to-morrow  morning." 

'  I  returned  in  the  morning,  and  for  fifteen  days ;  but  I 
only  sat  two  or  three  times,  and  it  was  lucky  that  there 
were  two  Sundays  in  that  fifteen  !' 

Driven  from  the  Hotel  de  Chimay  by  the  shade  of  his 
wife,  Debas  found  shelter  in  a  ground-floor  in  the  Rue 
Furstemberg ;  and  there  he  died  in  the  severe  winter  of 
1890-91.  He  had  been  a  stall- 
keeper  since  1832,  while  his 
rival,  Malorey,  had  not  set  up 
until  1833,  and  profited  by  his 
experience  and  his  advice. 

The  Hotel  de  Chimay  shel- 
tered another  individual  of  a 
less  amiable  character.  This 
was  a  short  fat  man,  with  red 
whiskers  turning  gray,  who 
walked  like  a  jockey,  and 
answered  to  the  name  of  M. 
Maynard.  His  companions 
called  him  Baron  Maynard,  for 
his  relations  with  the  deputies 
of  the  Right,  whom  he  supplied 

with  documents,  had  given  him  a  sort  of  aristocratic 
arrogance  which  was  very  amusing.  His  stall  was  in 
front  of  the  hotel,  and,  seated  on  a  stool  covered  with 


72  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

faded  carpet,  he  showed  immense  disdain  for  the  poor 
stall-keepers  on  the  parapet  opposite.  Stall-keeper ! 
Absurd  !  He  was  a  bookseller,  and  did  not  mind  saying 
so  to  those  who  were  unaware  of  the  fact.  His  specialty 
was  official  reports,  which  he  piled  up  in  the  recess  of 
one  of  the  barred  windows  of  the  Hotel  de  Chimay,  where 
he  also  hung  them  up  on  strings.  Statistics,  parlia- 
mentary papers,  yellow  books,  speeches — all  the  printed 
rubbish  of  the  Chambers  was  to  be  found  at  his  stall. 
His  moral  specialty  was  backbiting  and  envy.  To  know 
a  person  was,  as  far  as  Maynard  was  concerned,  to 
know  a  vice.  He  rarely  spoke  of  anyone  without 
saying  something  about  him  relative  to  the  criminal 
court.  Society  was  composed  of  blackguards  and  bandits, 
and  he,  Maynard,  the  bookseller,  impassively  judged  them. 
Of  this  type  he  was  not  the  only  representative.  It  is 
not  only  against  the  palings  in  front  of  old  hotels  that 
they  stand.  He  has  his  representatives  in  all  the  pro- 
fessions and  in  all  social  conditions ;  but  to  keep  to 
dealers  in  books,  which  is  our  particular  business  here, 
we  know  such  and  such  a  bookseller  in  a  fine,  well-stocked 
shop,  issuing  monthly  catalogues  and  inserting  advertise- 
ments in  the  Journal  de  la  Librairie,  who  thinks  and  talks 
as  does  M.  Maynard.  To  listen  to  them,  they  have  never 
had  to  do  but  with  sharpers  and  thieves ;  everyone  has  a 
skeleton  in  the  cupboard,  and  the  sly  bookseller  has  the 
keys  of  all  the  Bluebeard  chambers ;  and  with  his  arms 
akimbo  and  his  mouth  in  a  pout  he  reels  off  his  horrors 
to  the  customer  who  comes,  and  piles  them  on  the  back  of 
the  customer  who  goes.  And  knowing  that  your  reputa- 
tion will  be  torn  in  a  similar  way  as  the  carcase  is  torn 
by  the  crow,  you  listen  complaisantly  to  the  calumniation 
of  your  friend  or  relative,  and  smile  at  the  calumniator, 
who,  profiting  by  the  opportunity,  between  two  mouth- 
fuls  of  venom  concludes  a  bargain  which  makes  you  pay 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED     73 


clearly  for  the  poison  he  has  given  you  to  drink  in  his 
shop. 

The  '  Baron  Maynard,'  driven  from  the  Hotel  de 
Chimay  by  the  enlargement  of  the  Ecole 
des  Beaux  Arts,  tried  to  sell  his  stock  for 
5,000  francs,  but  was  unable  to  do  so, 
and,  turned  out  of  his  position,  he  died 
in  the  weariness  of  the  idle,  about  1888. 

If  you  had  frequented  the  quays  twenty 
years  ago,  you  would  have  stopped  for  a 
moment  at  a  stall  where  the  old  partitions 
alternated  with  old  books  at  the  angle  of 
the  Pont  des  Saints-Peres  and  the  Quai 
Voltaire.  If  anything  had  tempted  your 
curiosity,  if  you  had  picked  up  and  put 
down  in  the  box  any  romances  or  operas, 
you  would  have  seen  rise  at  your  elbow  the  dealer,  stern 
of  aspect  and  rough  of  voice,  who  would  say  to  you, 
'  You  must  not  touch  !'  That  was  Charlier,  an  old  fellow, 
eccentric  and  crotchety,  who  defended  his  property. 
Frequently  the  bystander  re- 
sented it.  Then  arose  Homeric 
disputes.  One  day  a  book- 
hunter,  at  a  loss  for  an  epithet, 
called  him  a  costermonger. 
Charlier,  considering  he  was 
libelled,  would  have  given  him 
in  charge  if  he  could.  His 
eccentricities  became  so  unre- 
strained that  he  gradually  drove 
his  customers  away ;  but  as  he 
had  6,000  francs  a  year  he 
could  afford  to  look  on  this  with  indifference  and  disdain. 
Charlier  is  still  famous  on  the  Quai  de  Voltaire. 

Corresponding  to  Pere  Malorey,  at  the  other  corner  of 


74 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IX  PARIS 


the  Pont  des  Arts,  was  old  Lecrivain,  dirty,  pimply,  hideous. 
The  different  fiery  brandies  with  which  he  had  played 
havoc  with  his  throat  had  left  him  for  his  few  remaining 
years  but  a  sort  of  spirituous  whisper  in  the  guise  of  a 
voice.  His  breath  was  enough  to  make  an  Auvergnat 
drunk ;  but  he  was  a  Norman,  and  his  astuteness  was 
always  afloat,  although  his  reason  might  be  drowned. 
He  knew  what  books  were,  and  at  a  glance  could  gauge 
the  buyer's  inclination.  He  lowered  or  raised  his  prices 
according  to  his  judgment  of  his  men.  It  was  a  psycho- 
logic tariff,  which  he  brought  to  bear  splendidly  before 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  ;  but  by  that  time  drink 
had  assumed  command  of  him,  and  then  the  fumy 
Lecrivain  was  at  the  mercy  of  the  customer  who  knew 
how  to  manage  him.  He  would  let  the  coveted  volume 
go  at  half  its  proper  price,  and  throw  into  the  bargain  an 
affectionate  look  and  a  bouquet  of  thanks  odorous  of 
absinthe. 

Of  the  drunken  type,  we  have  another  example  in  Isnard, 

surnamed  Trompe  -  la  - 
Mort,  or  the  Tonkinois. 
Clothed  in  repulsive 
rags,  exhaling  fetid 
odours,  and  frightfully 
dirty,  he  excited  the 
disgust  and  pity  of  the 
passers-by,  and  more 
than  one  bought  a  worth- 
less book  of  hirn  for  the 
sake  of  doing  him  a 
charity  in  giving  him 
three-halfpence.  When 
your  courage  was  equal  to  stirring  up  a  little  this  parcel 
of  physical  and  moral  rottenness,  he  would  favour  you 
with  stories  of  adventures  and  debauches,  which  he 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED    75 

would  relate  with  cynical  complacency.  Isnard  had  seen 
much  of  Europe  and  America — here  as  a  commercial 
traveller,  there  as  a  shopkeeper,  elsewhere  as  a  barber, 
everywhere  as  a  man  of  pleasure  and  a  rascal.  In  his 
disorder  he  had  known  how  to  earn  money,  and  in  his 
forties  his  health  had  suddenly  given  way  at  a  last  assault 
of  debauchery,  and  he  had  suddenly  become  a  sordid 
miser.  He  lived  on  bread  and  garlic,  abandoned  all 
notions  of  cleanliness,  and  became  a  moving  mass  of 
vermin,  in  which  his  crapulous  soul  found  a  suitable 
habitation. 

The  really  poor  man  on  the  quays  at  this  period  was 
M.  Formage,  an  old  editor  of  music,  fallen  into  the 
blackest  misery.  It  was  what  remained  of  his  magazine 
that  formed  his  stock-in-trade,  which  he  never  increased 
nor  renewed.  In  the  evening  he  took  his  old  music 
into  some  corner  where  charitable  people  gave  him 
shelter,  and,  spreading  it  out  like  a  litter,  slept  upon 
it.  No  matter  how  poor  he  was,  when  even  he  was 
unable  to  pay  the  twopence  for  his  little  barrow,  he 
never  let  a  day  pass  without  buying  a  Figaro.  The  first 
money  he  took,  no  matter  if  it  were  one  halfpenny  or 
three,  was  devoted  to  this  purchase.  He  could  do 
without  a  meal,  but  not  without  his  newspaper.  This 
touching  fidelity  was,  I  suppose,  unknown  in  the  Rue 
Drouot,  or  they  would  probably  have  helped  so  de- 
voted a  reader,  or,  at  least,  have  done  him  some  ser- 
vice. Perhaps  they  did  ;  at  any  rate,  M.  Formage  was 
eventually  admitted  as  organist  into  an  asylum  for  old 
men. 

Another  necessitous  and  peculiar  stall-keeper  of  the 
Quai  Voltaire  was  Pere  Hazard,  well  known  to  book- 
hunters,  who  was  admitted  recently  into  the  alms-houses 
of  the  brothers  Galignani  at  Levallois. 

Every  whit   as   poor  was  Eugene    Flauraud,    an   old 


76 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


pupil  of  the  Jesuits  of  Poitiers  and  the  Issy  seminary,  a 
poet  having  a  volume  (Juvenilia,  1877-82)  on  Vanier, 
an  enthusiastic  dreamer  on  Balzac,  the  hero  being  him- 
self, his  head  full  of  financial  speculations  and  of  visions 
of  literary  glory,  incapable  of  succeeding  in  anything, 
and  walking  up  and  down  in  front  of 
a  few  dozen  books,  which  he  spread 
out  on  the  parapet  with  as  much 
intelligence  of  reality  as  a  Knight  of 
the  Round  Table  in  the  forest  of 
Broceliande.  Reduced  to  absolute 
want,  he  returned  one  fine  morning 
to  his  provincial  sheepfold,  which 
he  had  so  imprudently  abandoned  ; 
but  misfortune,  which  clung  to  him 
so  closely,  never  left  him,  and  he 
was  drowned  accidentally  a  short 
time  afterwards  in  the  Vienne. 
An  eccentric  stall-keeper  we  still  remember  with  affec- 
tion, for  we  knew  him  at  the  beginning  of  our  book- 
hunting  passion  in  1875,  was  the  good  and  excellent 
Raquin,  from  Troyes,  whose  stand  was  on  the  Quai 
Malaquais,  near  the  advertisement  column  of  the  theatres. 
We  can  see  him  still,  with  his  sharp,  cheery,  good- 
tempered  Champenois  look,  and  his  expansive  affection 
when  talking  to  patrons  who  meant  business.  Raquin, 
who  was  then  about  thirty-five  years  old,  was  a  scholar 
well  versed  in  Greek,  which  he  wrote  fluently.  He  had 
in  the  Rue  Mazarine  a  shop  full  of  books,  where  we  often 
spent  entire  days  together,  candle  in  hand,  disinterring 
from  dark  corners  authors  of  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries,  of  which  we  found  many.  For  his 
price  he  would  stand  out  with  a  vivacity,  a  spirit,  and  a 
humour  which  awoke  in  us  a  similar  vein  of  obstinate, 
hilarious  bargaining. 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED     77 


Ah,  Raquin  !  his  memory  will  be  ever  green  with  us, 
for  he  was  one  of  the  first  to  contribute  to  the  founda- 
tions of  our  library,  now  so  numerous,  and,  alas  !  not 
yielding  us  the  ideal  joys  of  days 
gone  by.  One  morning  we  heard  of 
his  sudden  death  in  his  lodgings  in 
the  Rue  Mazarine.  As  he  lived  un- 
married, the  cause  of  his  decease  was 
never  known.  He  had  not  come  to 
the  quay  as  usual ;  they  went  in 
search  of  him,  broke  open  the  door, 
and  found  him  lying  dead  across  his 
room.  Poor  fellow !  had  he  some 
secret  sorrow  under  that  pleasant 
humour  with  which  he  cheered  up 

all  the  good  bibliophiles  who  often  stopped  on  the  quays 
for  a  chat  with  him  ?     Who  will  ever  know  ? 

.-1  las,  poor  Raquin  ! 

At  a  corner  of  the  Pont  des  Saints-Peres  stood  another 
variety  of  bouquinopole,  old  Le- 
quiller,  risen  from  a  school  and  a 
village  shop  to  the  Parisian  quays. 
Majestic,  solemn,  and  stiff,  he  re- 
mained, by  education  and  apti- 
tude, ignorant  of  the  contents 
of  his  wares — like  many  other 
members  of  the  Society  of  Friends 
of  Books.  He  sold  his  goods  by 
sight  and  smell,  asking  three  francs 
for  a  book  worth  fivepence  and 
conversely.  A  compliment  on  his 
studious  tastes  and  the  extent  of 
his  knowledge  would  melt  his 
haughty  heart ;  he  was  unable  to 
resist  it ;  the  price  you  offered  was  his,  and  he  would 


78  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

favour  you  over  and  above  your  bargain  with  advice  and 
observations  about  literature  which  you  could  not  help 
enjoying. 

Less  ignorant  and  more  comical  in  aspect  was  Pere 
Confait,  an  old  disciple  of  Saint  Simon,  who  was  always 
ready  for  a  gossip  about  his  ex-brethren  of  Menilmontant, 
mentioning  the  most  famous  and  the  most  gifted,  and 
comparing,  not  without  bitterness,  their  lot  with  his 
mediocrity.  With  his  large  projecting  eyes,  behind  an 
enormous  pair  of  silver  spectacles,  his  long  stiff  hair,  his 
bristly  beard,  he  was  a  living  argument  in  favour  of  the 
theories  that  affirm  our  simian  origin.  For  fifteen  years 
he  could  be  seen  in  front  of  the  Mint,  by  the  side  of  the 
cab-kiosk,  sharing  his  repast  on  the  box  of  his  little  book- 
barrow  with  his  wife,  who  was  no  less  eccentric-looking 
than  himself,  and  a  horrible  old  poodle,  nearly  blind,  on 
which  was  centred  all  the  tenderness  of  its  master  and 
mistress.  The  rest  of  the  time  he  fidgeted  about,  look- 
ing wearied  and  out  of  health,  huddling  up  his  books, 
which  he  never  sold  cheap. 

We  must  not  pass  in  silence  Janssens  the  Belgian,  with 
his  red  beard,  whose  placid  face  and  sly  and  silly  smile 
was  a  curious  combination  of  the  amiable  and  the  dis- 
tressing ;  for  he  had  the  gait  of  Quasimodo,  stunted  and 
crooked  under  the  burden  of  his  books,  a  kind  of  mal- 
formation which  attracted  pity,  while  there  was  a  sus- 
picion of  mischief  in  his  jeering  Flemish  look. 

Janssens  was  employed  for  a  long  time  at  Marpon's 
under  the  galleries  of  the  Odeon,  before  he  pitched  his 
camp  on  the  Quai  Voltaire,  on  the  parapets  near  the 
Pont  des  Saints-Peres.  Very  active  and  wide  awake,  in 
constant  communication  with  the  world  of  journalists,  he 
was  a  keen  buyer  of  works  on  bibliography,  to  sell  them 
again  to  amateurs  on  the  watch,  who  sought  them  out  at 
his  lodgings  in  the  Rue  Bonaparte.  Janssens  might 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED     79 


have  made  his  fortune,  for  he  was  naturally  clever,  but  he 
could  neither  resist  the  smiles  of  women  nor  the  smiles 
of  absinthe  and  the  other  attractions  of  the  '  Assommoir ' 
in  front  of  him.  Woman  and  alcohol  ruined  him.  Two 
years  ago  he  was  at  work  for  Le  Soudier,  and  there  he 
stole  books  and  passed  the  frontier.  He  deserved  some 
indulgence,  for,  in  truth,  he  was  not  a  bad  fellow. 

Always  at  his  side  was  another  stall-keeper,  his  double 
and  his  alter  ego,  or  Bibi  la  grillade,  who  drank  without 
thirst,  joyous  to  look  upon,  and  always  on  the  quay.  This 
amiable  fellow,  rubicund  of  visage  and  obliging  in  bearing, 
was  known  to  his  colleagues  as  Le  Noble  le  Mazurier.  His 
real  name  was  Le  Mazurier,  but,  as  he  had  often  claimed 
aristocratic  relationship,  his  neighbours  nicknamed  him 
accordingly.  Le  Mazurier  was  one  of  the  most  obliging 
stall-keepers  on  the  quays. 

The  list  of  stall-keepers  who  have  disappeared  would 
be  interminable,  even  if  it  only  com- 
prised those  of  the  last  twenty-five  years. 
But  we  must  say  something  of  the  one- 
armed  man  whom  generations  have 
known,  and  then  of  Dubosq  the  First, 
who  stood  near  the  Pont  des  Arts  (also 
a  Norman),  and  who  left  behind  him  in 
the  shape  of  nephews  quite  a  dynasty  of 
Dubosqs.  Old  Dubosq  died  when  he 
was  seventy ;  occasionally  he  had  some 
good  books,  and  if  he  was  well  stocked 
on  the  quay,  his  shop  in  the  Rue  Bona- 
parte was  none  the  less  furnished  with 
excellent  works.  But  we  must  hasten, 
or  we  shall  never  have  done  with  these  stall- keepers  of 
yesterday. 

Who  else  is  there  ?  To  our  memory  returns  another 
oddity,  Ambs,  who  kept  the  Bouquinerie  Voltaire  facing 


So  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


the  Pont  des  Saints-Peres.  Ambs  was  young,  active, 
and  would  probably  have  made  a  fortune  if  his  ruddy 
mistress,  the  Bottle  Goddess,  had  not  ruined  his  constitu- 
tion. His  colleagues  had  named  him  Amcr  Picon,  for  he 
drank  about  fifteen  or  twenty  glasses  of  that  appetiser 
during  the  day.  '  By  encouraging  his  appetite,'  said  one 
of  his  neighbours,  '  he  has  killed  himself.' 

Among  the  most  recent  who  have  passed  from  the  quays 
we  ought  to  say  something  of  Gustave  Boucher,  who  left 
a  notary's  office  at  Niort  to  come  to  Paris,  out  of  love  for 
books,  a  conquest  to  bibliography — so  he  told  us — through 
reading  our  old  review,  Le  Livrc.  Young,  and  frail,  and 
delicate,  he  started  as  a  stall-keeper  on  the  Quai  Voltaire. 
Gentle  as  a  hero  of  Musset,  elegant,  and  always  correct, 
he  had  a  hard  time  of  it  at  first,  often  accompanied  on  the 
quay  by  a  little  woman,  Mimi  Pinson,  of  the  Quartier 
Latin,  who  helped  him  in  the  housing  of  his  boxes. 
Boucher  brought  almost  under  our  very  windows,  about 
seven  years  ago,  a  romance  as  it  were  of  love  and  letters, 
of  impassioned  and  studious  youth,  by  turns  an  idyll  and 
a  bibliognostic  vocation,  very  curious  and  most  affecting. 
To-day  he  is  in  the  office  of  the  Beaux  Arts,  cultivating 
with  rare  refinement  literature  and  the  world  of  letters, 
without  attempting  to  forget  his  temporary  position  among 
the  stall-keepers,  whose  friend  he  remains.  We  owe 
him  many  notes  judiciously  collected,  and  we  salute  him 
as  we  pass. 

Abel  Tarride,  the  popular  actor  at  the  Nouveautes,  and 
who  in  Champignol  malgre  lui  gave  so  much  comic  vigour 
to  a  military  part,  was  also  a  stall-keeper  on  the  Quai 
Voltaire,  and  preferred  to  sell  the  literary  wrecks  that 
foundered  there,  as  in  a  last  refuge,  rather  than  religious 
odds  and  ends  at  home  in  the  provinces.  In  the  evening 
when  his  stall  was  closed  he  went  out  to  act,  no  matter 
where,  in  the  most  eccentric  parts,  in  order  to  learn  his 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED     81 


Do  not  the  quays  lead  to 


trade  on  the  suburban  boards, 
everywhere  ? 

How  many  others,  amusing  or  interesting  in  different 
ways,  have  disappeared  !  To  say  nothing  of  Pere 
Lecureux,  who  had  in  Piedagnel  his  mediocre  biographer, 
let  us  pass  in  the  dark  chamber  of  our  memory  young 
Pelet,  surnamed  Gingerhead,  who,  with  Janssens,  was 
one  of  the  stall-keepers  best  known  to  bibliophiles  for 
good  books,  and  particularly  for  classics,  old  poets,  and 
first  editions  ;  then  there  was  Laporte,  of  whom  we  shall 
have  something  to  say  presently,  and  who  was  through 
an  anagram  known  as  1'Apotre,  not  in  remembrance  of 
the  first  vocation  that  was  attributed  to  him,  for  he  was 
never  unfrocked,  but  because  he  published  the  Biblio- 
graphic Jaunc,  the  Bibliographic  Clcrico-galante,  under  the 
title  of  L'Apdtrc  Bibliographc.  His 
trade  emblem  was  a  half-open  door  with 
these  curious  words  beneath :  A  La- 
porte, la  portc.  Quite  a  character  he 
was,  with  a  look  of  importance  as  of 
Pere  Hyacinthe  Loyson  in  moustaches, 
always  wearing  his  hat,  a  bitter-looking 
mouth,  a  discontented,  haughty  bearing, 
fluent  and  talkative — quite  a  benediction. 
A  stout  brunette  of  Southern  type,  his 
wife,  his  sister,  or  his  daughter — we  know 
not  too  much  of  him — helped  him  on  the  ,: 
quay  every  day.  She  may  be  there  still. 
Then  there  was  Legoubin,  whose  stall 
was  loaded  with  the  refuse,  or  the  beginnings,  of  the  shop 
he  owned  in  the  neighbourhood ;  and  Gougy  in  a  dynasty 
of  five,  father,  sons,  and  uncles ;  and  Joux,  whose  oddities 
are  worth  a  monograph  to  themselves ;  and  Bridoux,  who 
from  a  modest  stall  in  the  open  air  blossomed  forth  into  the 
splendours  of  the  bouquineric  ccntvalc  near  the  Pont  Neuf. 

6 


.82 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


Who  yet  ?  The  brave  Papa  Rosselin,  of  the  Quai 
Malaquais,  who  opened  his  stall  in  1853,  and  is  to-day 
the  undisputed  senior  of  the  quays.  Excellent  man,  one 
of  the  last  picturesque  figures  of  the  time,  recognisable  by 
his  white  blouse  under  the  coat,  by  his  sabots  on  his  feet, 
the  cap  on  his  white  hair,  and  his  face  divided  by  the 
large  blue  spectacles,  which  give  him  a  grotesque  look, 
and  make  him  a  good  subject  for  a  painter. 

We  ought  also  to  mention  Delahaye.  After  assisting 
his  father,  who  published  various  annotated  editions  of 
ancient  authors,  among  others  the  Bibliotheque  Gauloisc, 


in  green  cloth  covers,  which  all  bibliophiles  remember, 
Delahaye  for  some  time  kept  a  shop  in  the  Rue  Casimir- 
Delavigne ;  and  then  he  went  down  in  the  world  with  a 
run,  after  having  from  the  days  of  Bibliophile  Jacob  held 
his  head  high  among  the  booksellers,  and  started  on  the 
Quai  de  la  Megisserie,  where  not  only  did  he  open  an 
extensive  stall,  stocked  with  the  remainders  of  his  old 
books,  but  distinguished  from  all  the  rest  by  being  lighted 
with  a  long  range  of  paraffin  lamps,  which  had  a  most 
startling  effect.  He  remained  for  more  than  a  year,  about 
1887  or  1888,  a  nocturnal  and  solitary  bookstall  man. 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  WHO  HAVE  DISAPPEARED     83 

But  probably  his  illumination  attracted  more  bats,  mos- 
quitoes, and  moths  than  belated  book-hunters,  for  he 
suddenly  ceased  to  light  up.  More  is  the  pity  !  It  was 
picturesque  and  amusing,  this  bonquinage  aux  lanternes, 
with  the  gleaming  copper  of  the  lamps,  and  the  strange 
lights  that  the  puffs  of  wind  gave  the  books  as  they  made 
the  yellow  flames  jump  and  stagger. 

If  bookshop-keepers  who  have  become  bookstall  men 
are  common,  there  are  at  least  not  a  few  instances  of 
bookstall  men  becoming  bookshop-keepers.  Most  of  these 
are  Normans,  as  we  have  seen  in  several  instances  ;  they 
excel  in  a  business  where  scent  is  the  indispensable  quality, 
and  in  which  almost  all  others  could  be  dispensed  with. 
Astute  and  bold,  hot  in  blood  and  cool  in  mind,  the  Nor- 
mans might  be  described  in  wit  and  truth  Juifs  du  papier. 
They  know  all  the  bookshops  from  Morgand  to  Legoubin; 
they  know  how  to  buy  at  the  cheapest  and  sell  at  the 
dearest — which  is  the  true  secret  of  trade  in  our  admir- 
able social  order.  If,  with  that,  they  can  master  their  in- 
clinations sufficiently  to  keep  themselves  sober  and  chaste, 
every  chance  of  success  is  theirs.  It  was  thus  that  Dubosq, 
of  whom  we  have  spoken,  attained  a  respectable  fortune, 
which  he  lost  in  a  Stock  Exchange  speculation,  for  he  was 
not  always  content  with  books.  It  is  thus  that  Fillet  suc- 
cessively passed  from  a  stall  against  a  paling  to  a  stall  on 
the  parapets,  and  from  the  parapets  to  a  handsome  shop 
where  he  does  business  in  a  large  way.  This  old  Fillet  is 
of  a  type  which  has  not  yet  disappeared.  Amid  a  heap  of 
old  books,  placed  in  Rembrandtish  half-light,  he  walks, 
always  cap  on  head,  with  the  weariness  of  a  man  who  sees 
that  the  taste  of  the  day  is  not  with  the  old,  and  that  he 
is  more  than  twenty  years  behind  his  age. 

We  might  multiply  examples,  but  these  will  serve  us  as 
a  means  of  transition  from  the  bookstall  men  of  the  past 
to  those  of  the  present.  All  the  stall-keepers  of  the  quays 


84  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

have  in  some  obscure  corner  of  one  of  their  boxes  this 
marshal's  baton  of  the  bookshop,  which  many  of  the 
cleverest  of  them  have  known  how  to  wield.  If  we  were 
not  afraid  of  making  them  blush  for  their  origin,  certain 
big  booksellers  now  alive,  substantial,  expansive,  proud, 
and  majestic,  might  be  quoted  among  the  bouquinistes 
who  have  risen  to  the  dignity  of  libraires-editettrs.  But 
hush  !  Let  us  be  silent — anger  not  anyone.  This  chapter 
is  already  too  long. 


THE    STALL-KEEPERS    OF    TO-DAY. 

CHARACTERS   AND    ODDITIES. 

ET  the  physiologist  who  would  explore  the 
quays  of  Paris  for  the  detailed  study  of 
their  tenants  attempt  to  delineate  a  typical 
stall-keeper,  and  he  will,  we  think,  be 
wasting  his  time  and  his  powers  of 
synthesis.  Undoubtedly  originals  are  not 
wanting  in  a  profession  which,  like  that  of  cab-driver, 
old  clo'  man,  publican,  and  lodging-house-keeper,  is  one 
of  the  five  or  six  most  open  refuges  for  those  with  whom 
nothing  succeeds.  But  these  either  bear  the  mark  of 
their  previous  profession,  or  are  distinguished  by  purely 
individual  traits,  and  their  peculiarities  of  physiognomy 


86  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

and  character  are  always  foreign  to  their  present  trade  ; 
they  are  oddities  who  have  become  bookstall-keepers,  but 
it  is  not  their  trading  in  old  books  which  has  given  them 
their  stamp  of  individuality  or  the  special  brand  which 
distinguishes  them. 

The  reader,  in  following  us  through  the  gallery  of  the 
departed,  will  have  already  noticed  that  the  second-hand 
booksellers  who  had  books  '  in  the  blood '  were  rare 
indeed.  How  much  rarer  are  they  to-day !  Without 
hoping  to  find  in  the  existing  confraternity  many  scholars 
like  Achaintre,  the  editor  of  Horace,  we  may  believe  that 
our  dealers  in  old  books,  or  at  least  the  majority  of  them, 
know  and  appreciate  their  goods,  take  an  intelligent 
interest  in  them,  and,  from  the  similarity  of  their  occupa- 
tions, derive  a  similarity  of  manners  and  appearance 
which  is  like  the  seal  of  the  trade  on  the  individual.  The 
professor,  the  lawyer,  the  physician,  the  man  who  farms 
his  own  land,  the  soldier  in  mufti,  are  all  recognisable  by 
general  resemblances.  I  do  not  speak  now  of  the  dyer's 
hands,  the  painter's  blouse,  the  carpenter's  apron,  which 
are  but  the  superficial  indications — the  signboards,  so  to 
speak — easy  to  efface  or  remove,  and  which  do  not  neces- 
sarily leave  a  stain.  The  bookstall  man  has  nothing  to 
show  his  trade  by.  He  sells  books  as  the  peripatetic 
optician  alongside  him  sells  spectacles,  as  the  antiquary 
sells  medals  and  little  bronzes,  as  the  naturalist  sells,  at 
a  fairer  price,  fossil  ammonites,  quartz  crystals,  butter- 
flies fixed  on  cork,  vertebrae  and  fragments  of  the  man- 
dible and  the  tibia.  There  is  no  absolutely  recognisable 
type. 

It  has  more  than  once  happened  to  us  to  discover  at  a 
certain  stall  some  books  which  interested  us,  and  to  settle 
for  them  with  a  man  of  medium  height,  keen  of  sight  and 
alert  of  bearing,  who  lost  sight  of  no  one  dipping  into  his 
boxes,  and  invariably  came  up  to  us  when  we  had  need  of 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  OF  TO-DAY 


sub 


him.     We  thought  at  first  that  we  were  dealing  with  a 

bookstall  man ;  but  one  day  we  noticed  under  his  vest  a 

copper  badge,  and  resting  against  a  neighbouring  tree 

were   the   strap  and  box  of  a  shoeblack. 

Our  stall-keeper  was  merely  in  charge 

of   the   stall   while    the   owner   was 

having  a  drink  at  the  cabaret. 

There  are  exceptions,  such  as  the 

two  or  three  named   at  the    outset 

and  in  the  course  of  this  book,  and 

who    have   favoured   us   with    many 

stantial  and  well-written  notes.     You  can 

find    a   few  others  who,  like   these,   have 

had    a   good   general    education,   and    are 

acquainted  with  the  merchandise  in  which 

they  trade.     But  the  ranks  are  not  usually  recruited  from 

college  graduates.  Here,  for  example,  is  a  stall-keeper  at 
the  corner  of  the  Pont  Royal,  on  the  Quai  d'Orsay ;  let 
us  introduce  him  ;  it  is  Chevalier,  the  old  waiter  at  the 
Salle  Sylvestre,  well  known  for  his  indisguisable  ignor- 
ance and  his  anything  but  Athenian  idiom.  He  hardly 
knows  how  to  read ;  none  the  less  his  is  one  of  the  stalls 
where  you  will  find  the  most  books  and  the  best  books ; 
he  has  already  made  enough  money  to  have  his  invest- 
ments. A  little  time  ago  his  volumes  remained  tumbled 
anyhow  into  the  sacks  which  strewed  the  ground  of  his 
store-room  in  the  Rue  Verneuil.  The  initiated  admitted 
within  the  sanctuary  emptied  the  sacks  out  on  to  the  floor 
to  examine  their  contents.  'Seek  your  living  there!' 
they  said  to  the  good  man,  for  at  heart  Chevalier  is  an 
excellent  man,  but  quite  incapable  of  doing  as  the  rag- 
picker does  with  the  refuse  and  detritus  accumulated  in 
his  basket,  for  he  had  no  notion  of  sampling  his  bones  or 
his  rags. 

Marrow-bones   and    rags    of   lace    are   not    common, 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


naturally ;  but  they  exist,  and  more  than  one  amateur 
has  returned,  it  is  said,  from  his  fishing  in  Chevalier's 
sacks  with  scarce  volumes,  for  which  he  paid  three  francs 
apiece.  Three  francs,  that  was  usually  the  extreme  limit 
of  Chevalier's  pretensions  ;  but  on  what  rule  did  he  base 
his  scale  of  prices  ?  No  one  has  ever  known.  A  book 
worth  ten  sous  was  valued  by  him  at  three  francs,  with 
as  much  ingenuousness  as  one  worth  a  louis.  And  once 
the  price  was  fixed  it  was  adhered  to  with  an  obstinacy 
that  nothing  could  shake.  But  you  might  wait  until  the 
coveted  volume  was  transferred  from  its  sack  to  the  box 
on  the  quay,  and  then  you  had  your  chance,  for  the  boxes 
were  invariably  turned  over  and  over  in  disorder,  and  the 
books  wandered  about  without  reason  or  method  from 
the  '  2  sous '  box  to  the  '  2  fr.  50.'  All  is  changed 
now;  Chevalier's  daughter  has  grown  up  cind  brought 
matters  more  into  order.  She  moves  about,  surveys 
and  arranges,  upright  in  carriage,  cold  in 
manner,  but  affable,  conducting  her  business 
with  a  slight  lisp,  and  as  soon  as  a  too 
would-be  agreeable  customer  turns  the  con- 
versation on  another  subject,  saying  no 
more,  but  beating  a  dignified  retreat  towards 
the  newspaper-kiosk. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  bridge,  on  the 
Quai  Voltaire,  the  most  remarkable  stall- 
keeper  and  the  most  courteous  is,  un- 
doubtedly, excellent  M.  Corroenne,  the  well- 
known  bibliographer  of  the  Cazin  editions, 
who  started  on  the  quay  in  1880.  The 
books  he  has  on  sale  he  brought  by  the 
armful  from  the  little  shop  which  he  has 
kept  for  years  opposite  at  the  sign  of  the  Cazinophile. 
A  short  time  ago  he  fitted  up  a  big  rectangular  .box  with 
a  lifting  lid,  the  whole  solidly  clamped  to  the  parapet. 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  OF  TO-DAY 


89 


He  has  only  to  shut   it   up  in  the  evening  and  open  it 
again  in  the  morning ;  and  his  books  are  always  in  order. 
He  daily  reinforces  them  with  the  piles  of  old  books  with 
which  he  flanks  the  ends,  like  the  exterior  works  protect- 
ing the  outskirts  of  a  fortress.     And  it  would  seem  that 
the  ardour  of  which  the  Cazinophilic  bouquinistc  has  given 
so  many  proofs  is  failing  him.     The  greatest  confusion 
reigns  in  his  shop,  which  he  is  about  to  abandon,  and  his 
boxes  cannot  always  be  praised  for  their  order  or  method. 
M.  Corroenne  has  brought  up  a  numerous  family  respect- 
ably ;  the  education  he  has  given  to 
his    children    does    honour    to    his 
paternal  devotion  as  well  as  to  his 
good  sense.     This  man,  of  military 
cut,  an  old  bandsman  of  the  Garde 
Republicaine,  still  full  of  vigour  and 
energy,     should     not     consider     his 
mission  terminated.     When  he  has 
played  his  part  as  a  father,  is  he  to 
set  free  the  bibliographic  spring  which 
kept  him  going  ?     Perhaps  he  needs 
the   stimulus  of  a   definite   duty  to 
preserve  him  from  that  vague  indif- 
ference to  his  old  work  and  interests 
which    is     now    apparent    in     him. 
He  is  the  best  of  men,  zealous,  polite,  courteous,  having 
retained  the  laws  of  harmony  taught  to  the  Garde,  always 
precise  and  easy  to  agree  with.     His  colleagues,  alluding 
to  his  height  and  his  love  for  Cazins  in  i6mo.,  have  nick- 
named him  antithetically  as  Grand-corps,  Petits-formats. 

Not  far  from  him  there  is  on  view  in  the  afternoon 
a  character  worthy  of  notice,  Emile  Vaisset,  employed 
every  morning  by  Auguste  Fillet.  This  demi-bouquiniste 
is  a  tall,  thin,  shaky  man,  nicknamed  '  Sack  of  bones ' 
by  his  ironic  cronies  of  the  parapets. 


90  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

Next  to  him  is  Gallandre,  an  old  railwayman  who,  after 
pushing  waggons  without  a  rest  on  the  Saint  Denis  line, 
now  pushes  the  little  book-barrow,  which  must  seem  as 
light  as  a  toy  to  him. 

Farther  on,  but  still  on  the  Quai  Voltaire,  is  a  pros- 
perous stall-keeper,  tall,  jovial,  of  sonorous  voice  and 
familiar  hand,  always  wearing  a  black  deerstalker  hat, 
and  pacing  right  and  left  along  the  quay.  This  is  A. 
Rigault,  the  most  authorised  representative  on  the  quays 
of  the  '  Revue  des  Buloz,'  of  which  he  possesses  fifty 
thousand  parts  in  store  at  No.  7,  Rue  des  Saints-Peres. 
He  knows  his  Revtte  as  nobody  else  knows  it,  he  devotes 
himself  entirely  to  it,  and  on  the  walls  of  his  lean-to  there 
is  nothing  to  be  seen  but  its  salmon  covers  methodically 
arranged.  Rigault  also  '  does '  with  Bottins.  He  collects 
them  and  sells  them  more  or  less  dearly,  according  to 
date.  He  also  does  a  little  with  a  few  current  books,  but 
that  is  merely  a  concession  and  of  little 
interest  to  him.  The  true  Rigault  is  the 
Rigault  Revue,  the  Rigault  Bottin,  the  in- 
comparable '  completer '  of  the  Buloz  series. 
The  Quai  Malaquais  glories  in  one  of  the 
first  literary  critics  of  the  time,  a  bibli- 
ographer of  the  first  flight.  He  holds  his 
sittings  in  front  of  the  Beaux  Arts,  and  he 
could  not  be  prouder  before  the  Institute. 
We  speak  of  Antoine  Laporte,  already  men- 
tioned in  the  preceding  chapter.  Without 
despising  the  lustre  shed  on  him  by  the 
surroundings,  he  has  no  doubt  but  that  he 
carries  within  himself  the  source  of  his 
brilliancy  and  his  radiance.  But  he  does 
not  waste  it,  and  it  is  not  on  the  first  buyer  that  comes 
along  that  he  pours  the  flood  of  his  luminosity.  He  does 
not  commit  himself  but  with  those  he  believes  to  be 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  OF  TO-DAY 


serious  scholars,  or  amateurs  of  knowledge  and  taste. 
Over  them  only  has  he  the  honour  and  the  pleasure  to 
triumph — and  he  always  triumphs.  They  can  teach  him 
nothing ;  they  can  prove  him  nothing ;  they  cannot 
undeceive  him.  They  can  listen,  but  to  contradict  is  out 
of  the  question.  For  if  they  argue  with  him  he  refers 
them  to  his  bibliographic  works  they  do  not  know ;  and 
if  they  are  ignorant  of  them,  how  can  they  expect  him  to 
deign  to  talk  to  them  ? 

Continuing  our  journey,  we  reach  the  stall  of  M.  Humel. 
M.  Humel  is  a  Bavarian  by  birth,  and  perhaps  by  nation- 
ality, for  we  have  never  heard  of  his 
having  been  naturalized.  But  if  he  is  not 
a  Frenchman  he  deserves  to  be  one,  for 
his  gallantry  at  least. 

The  stall-keepers  complain  from  time 
to  time  that  these  parapets,  like  the  aisles 
of  a  church,  are  used  as  places  of  rendez- 
vous, or  even  of  accidental  meetings  ;  we 
doubt  if  any  of  these  complaints  have  the 
support  of  M.  Humel,  at  least  when  he  was 
a  bachelor,  and  pursued  his  oglings  and 
attentions  to  every  presumably  coquettish 
petticoat  that  approached  his  stall — and 
with  results.  But  at  last  the  conqueror 
was  in  him  conquered  by  his  last  conquest,  and  after  a 
prolonged  absence  he  returned  with  a  charming  com- 
panion, whom  he  introduced  to  his  neighbours  and  who 
eventually  made  him  a  father ;  since  them  M.  Humel  has 
toned  down  his  former  effusiveness  into  mere  politenesses 
and  complaisances  which  one  would  like  to  meet  with 
everywhere.  If  he  sees  with  an  indulgent  eye  the  errand- 
girl  or  the  little  nurse  stop  before  his  boxes  and  consult 
gratis  La  Clef  des  Songes  or  the  Secretaire  des  Dames,  who 
would  not  approve  of  this  gracious  tolerance  ?  And,  in 


92  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

fact,  they  are  rare,  the  stall-keepers  who  in  such  a  case 
would  not  shut  their  eyes — this  is  a  metaphor — and  avoid 
advancing  on  the  reader  for  fear  of  intimidating  her. 
And  when  the  girl  moves  off  at  her  bird's  step,  turning 
over  in  her  little  brain  the  formula  of  a  letter  or  the 
explanation  of  a  dream,  rich  in  hope  and  illusion  for  a 
whole  day,  the  stall-keeper  puts  the  book  back  with  a 
tender  half-smile,  placidly  happy  at  the  charity  he  has 
bestowed. 

We  gladly  recommend  this  gratification,  as  well  as 
every  other  which  comes  of  kindness  in 
the  honest  practice  of  a  trade,  to  a  big 
man  whose  store  is  in  the  Rue  de  Seine, 
and  whose  stall  faces  the  Rue  Bona- 
parte. An  enormous  red  head  on  an 
apoplectic  neck,  a  corporation  like  a  fat 
doll's,  his  physical  envelope  modelled  exactly, 
so  they  say,  on  the  interior  man.  He  is 
dreaded  for  his  gross  pleasantries  and  his 
brutal  jokes  at  the  sale-rooms  and  the  Salle 
Sylvestre,  where  the  auctioneers  are  often 
obliged  to  call  him  to  order.  He  is,  how- 
ever, assiduous  in  his  attendance,  being  one 
of  the  most  active  and  noisy  members  of  the  '  black  band.' 
This  singular  personage  need  not  delay  us  long,  and  as 
we  here  express  an  opinion  which  seems  to  be  general  on 
the  quays,  we  do  not  name  him,  for  we  do  not  wish  to 
give  offence  to  any  living  stall-keeper  nor  to  injure  any- 
body. It  is,  however,  permitted  us  to  prefer  the  amusing 
company  of  M.  Jacques  on  the  Quai  Conti  before  the 
Institute. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  listen  to  M.  Jacques  developing  his 
ideas  as  to  the  improvement  of  bookstall-keeping.  This 
astonishing  man  dreams  of  transforming  the  Paris  quays 
into  a  vast  gallery,  with  awning,  lighting,  shelves,  coun- 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  OF  TO-DAY 


93 


ters,  etc.  The  meagre  success  of  his  many  endeavours, 
far  from  discouraging  him,  urges  him  to  further  enter- 
prises. He  has  devoted  himself  to  the  task  of  disembar- 
rassing society  of  the  monopolists  or  modern  forestallers. 
With  this  object  he  has  published  an  exhilarating  volume, 
La  Pieuvre  commerciale,  which  has  been  announced  to  the 
populace  by  highly  comical  posters,  in  which  he  took 
the  opportunity  of  inviting  all  the  traders  in  Paris  to 
come  to  his  stall  and  sign  a  double  petition,  demanding 
the  destruction  of  the  large  stores  and  the  establishment 
of  a  national  fair.  Unfortunately 
he  is  the  victim  of  machinations  in- 
numerable ;  the  capitalist  pursues 
him  with  a  furious  hatred ;  the  venal 
press  fell  on  his  book;  his  posters 
were  pasted  over ;  his  petitions  gained 
but  his  own  signature,  and  were  not 
in  a  fit  state  to  be  presented.  But 
M.  Jacques  did  not  lay  down  his  arms ; 
he  remains  indomitable  and  threaten- 
ing. '  I  told  them  that  they  have  me 
to  deal  with !  They  had  better  look 
out.'  At  his  call  they  will  descend  into 
the  street ;  he  will  put  himself  at  their 
head.  Beware,  then!  for  Jacques  knows 
what  is  meant  by  a  Jacquerie.  And  in  the  meantime  he 
has  appointed  a  deputy.  This  worthy  crank  has  his 
duplicate  at  the  corner  of  the  Pont  Saint-Michel,  whither 
we  transport  ourselves  at  a  single  bound,  leaving  for  a 
moment  the  stall-keepers  of  the  Quai  Conti  and  the  Quai 
des  Grands-Augustins,  for  if  the  Norman  type  abounds, 
the  bouquiniste  type  is  not  very  marked. 

Though  both  M.  Jacques  and  Citoyen  Chanmoru  are 
revolutionists  and  socialists,  yet  they  differ  from  each 
other.  It  is  Marat  by  the  side  of  Camille  Desmoulins. 


94 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


In  the  fantastic  imaginings  of  M.  Jacques  there  is  a 
soaring  flight  unknown  to  the  gloomy,  discontented,  utili- 
tarian brain  of  his  companion.  One  floats  off  into  the 
realm  of  dreams ;  the  other  clings  more  to  earth,  applies 
as  much  of  his  theories  as  he  can  and  makes  the  most  of 
them. 

In  summer  Citoyen  Chanmoru  wears  a  red  cap  and  in 
winter  a  toque  of  otter-skin.  His  long  yellow  hair  is 
tied  up  in  a  chignon  behind  his  head  with  a  white  or 
blue  ribbon.  His  beard  is  also  yellow,  and  is  worn  short 
and  bristly.  His  long  teeth,  which  the 
grin  of  his  two  thick  lips  often  reveals,  are 
also  yellow.  This  jaundiced  face  is  pierced 
as  by  a  gimlet  with  two  holes,  in  which 
blink  and  quiver  two  little  points  of  pale- 
blue,  which  are  his  eyes.  In  winter  Citoyen 
Chanmoru  wears  sabots  of  white  wood, 
muffles  himself  in  a  comforter,  and  over 
a  thick  overcoat  puts  a  long  blouse  of  very 
dirty  coarse  material. 

His  plan  of  social  renovation,  from  a 
bookstall  point  of  view,  consists  in  the 
establishment  of  a  syndicate  for  preventing 
stall-keepers  from  selling  their  books  at 
lower  prices  than  those  fixed  by  the  committee.  Every 
purchase  should  be  examined  and  every  volume  priced. 
Any  stall-keeper  accused  and  convicted  of  having  sold  a 
book  below  the  price  fixed  should  be  excluded  from  the 
parapet.  Citoyen  Chanmoru,  whose  devotion  to  demo- 
cratic ideas  and  ideas  of  equality  is  not  without  its  limits, 
would  be  quite  equal  to  acting  as  the  taxing  committee 
all  by  himself. 

Chanmoru  has  already  been  convicted  of  insubordina- 
tion to  the  police  in  various  affrays,  and  he  likes  not 
la  Rousse,  and  his  spirit  revolts  at  seeing  spies  almost 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  OF  TO-DAY  95 

everywhere.  All  his  neighbours  with  whom  he  quarrels 
are  in  his  eyes  informers,  placed  there  to  keep  an  eye  on 
him.  Being  of  a  dictatorial,  authoritative  nature,  his 
friends  find  themselves  in  the  position  of  having  to 
choose  between  him  and  those  he  supposes  to  be  his 
enemies. 

In   the   height   of    the    Boulangist   epoch    Chanmoru 
shouted,    A  . 

has  les  voleurs ! 
as  the  Presi- 
dent passed 
along  to  the 
Place  des  Xa- 


tions,  to  inaugurate  the 

Dalou     fountain.      The 

scandal  was  great,  and 

he  was  arrested.     After 

three  days'  detention  he  owed  his  dismissal  to  the  tyrant 

in  person,  to  M.  Carnot,  who  perhaps,  being  a  Polytech- 

nician,  had  a  weakness  for  stall-keepers  and  the  loungers 

of  the  quays. 

A  few  years  ago  Citoyen  Chanmoru's  stall  was  as 
curious  as  himself.  Twenty  little  boxes,  made  and 
painted  red  by  him,  were  arranged  along  the  ten  metres 
of  wall  to  which  he  had  to  limit  his  strength,  his  demo- 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


cratic  tendency  being  to  take  all  he  could  get,  Chanmoru 
being  the  sole  unadulterated  incarnation  of  Demos.  The 
democrat,  of  whom  Citoyen  Chanmoru  is  the  undeniable 
type,  considers  as  aristocrats  all  those  who  possess  that 
which  he  has  not ;  and  to  take  from  the  aristocrats  that 
which  they  possess  is  to  legitimately  enter  into  pos- 
session of  his  own  property. 

In  the  twenty  boxes  the  books  were  systematically 
classified,  and  a  label  informed  the  customer  of  the  kind 
of  goods  before  him.  No  matter  how  miserable  or 
dilapidated  might  be  the  volume,  a  written  label  was 
stuck  on  the  back,  giving  the  title,  the  date,  and  the 
price,  and  a  string  carefully  knotted  tied  up  the  leaves 
to  save  them  from  the  thumb  of  the  curious.  The 
difference  between  the  marked  price  and  the  value  was 
generally  laughable,  but  oftenest  the  price  asked  was  over 
instead  of  under.  We  have  seen  a  Bible  Farce,  of  Leo 
Taxil's,  stitched,  marked  fifteen  francs,  while  Trouillet 
was  at  that  very  moment  selling  them  for  fifty  centimes  a 
kilogramme. 

Besides  these  innumerable  little  labels  to  guide  you  in 
your  researches  there  were  larger  ones,  instructing  you 
how  to  hold  the  books,  how  to  open  them,  how  to  shut 
them,  and  how  to  put  them  back  in  their  places.  A 
special  placard  rendered  in  old  French  requested  smokers 
not  to  drop  their  ashes  in  the  boxes,  and  prohibited 
schoolboys  from  snivelling  over  the  books. 

It  was  of  Chanmoru  that  we  spoke  in  Le  Livre  in 
1880,  when  in  the  Gazette  Bibliographique  we  wrote  the 
following  paragraph  : 

A  BOOKSTALL- KEEPER.— The  stall -keepers  of  the 
quay  have  for  some  time  had  a  colleague  who  stands  not 
far  from  the  Pont  Saint-Michel.  The  newcomer  has 
made  a  specialty  of  journals,  pamphlets,  and  documents 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  OF  TO-DAY  97 

of  all  kinds  bearing  on  the  events  of  1871.  He  also  has 
a  number  of  socialistic  and  revolutionary  works.  All 
these  are  arranged,  ticketed,  and  classified  with  minute 
care.  Our  stall-keeper  has  a  horror  of  disorder,  and 
great  is  his  indignation  at  seeing  the  profane  rummaging 
in  his  boxes.  For  their  benefit  he  displays  these  two 
notices  : 


THE  BOOKSELLER  DISTRESSED 

AT    SEEING    HIS    BOOKS    DAMAGED    WITHOUT    PITY 

appeals  to  the  consideration  of  the  Public 

to  handle  the  books  as  little  as 

possible,  and  only  with  the 

intention  of 

BUYING. 


ADVIS 
AUX     ESCHOLIERS     ET     AULTRES 


Oncques  ne  vist-on 
Au  paiis  d'Angleterre,  d'Espaigne, 

Voire  d'Allemaigne, 
Les  admirateurs  penches  sur  les  boites 

Y  laisser  choir 

Cendres  de  cigares,  de  cigarettes, 
De  pipes   meme  et  brule-gueules. 

Ni  laisser  couler 

De  leurs  nez  roupies. 

Adoncques,  le  pauvre  bibliothe'queux, 

Porant  et  geignant, 

Invoque  de  tous   Precaution   et   Mercy 
Sous  peine  d'estre,  en  contraire  cas, 

Marrys  et  jete's  en  Seine 
Comme  malfaisants   matous. 


98 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


Nowadays  a  change  has  come  over  this  wonderful  stall. 
The  proprietor  remarked  that  many  of  his  neighbours 
who  sold  only  music  managed  to  secure  passable  re- 
ceipts. His  own  were  greater,  but  he  thought  that  by  a 
little  opposition  he  could  reduce  his  neighbours'  gains. 
He  sold  his  little  boxes  and  their  contents,  suppressed  his 
amusing  labels  and  notices,  and  made  his  stall  look  like 
those  on  either  side  of  him.  In  this  way  he  established  a 
confusion  which,  if  it  did  not  profit  him,  at  least  did  harm 
to  his  colleagues,  and  thereupon  he  rubs  his  hands  and 
his  soul  rejoices.  Such  is  this  singular  and  amusing 
man. 

Now  that  we  are  among  the  moral  eccentricities  of  this 

little  world,  where,  on 
the  other  hand,  we  find 
so  much  simplicity,  good 
nature,  family  virtue, 
modest  resignation,  and 
„.„  laborious  mediocrity,  we 
will  report  a  conversa- 
tion we  had  seven  or 
eight  years  ago  with  one 
of  the  most  cynical  and 
least  scrupulous  of  all 

the  bookstall-keepers  who  adorned  the  line  of  quays.  We 
will  not  mention  his  name  ;  let  it  suffice  to  say  that  we 
have  already  spoken  of  him  in  these  pages.  Those  only 
will  recognise  him  who  have  recognised  him  already,  and 
any  fear  of  injuring  him  with  others  would  certainly  be 
superfluous. 

On  this  occasion  he  was  as  usual  wearing  a  blouse, 
peculiar  in  shape,  colour,  and  material.  Seeing  that  it 
awoke  our  curiosity,  he  condescended  to  furnish  us  with 
explanations. 

'  Ah,  you  are  looking  at  my  blouse  !     It  is  curious,  is  it 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  OF  TO-DAY  99 

not  ?  I  made  it  myself,  as  I  did  another  like  it  I  have  at 
home.  It  is  all  that  remains  to  me  of  the  siege  of  Paris, 
and  the  stuff  it  is  made  of  came  from  the  coffee  sacks 
supplied  to  my  battalion  when  I  was  in  the  National 
Guard.  Ah,  I  made  a  good  deal  of  money  in  those  days  : 
twelve  thousand  francs  at  least !  Oh,  it  was  easy  enough  ! 
My  battalion  was  composed  of  a  lot  of  dirty  bourgeois — 
all  big  traders  or  manufacturers,  like  Menier,  the  choco- 
late-maker, for  example,  and  other  nabobs  of  that  kidney. 
All  these  people  every  day  distributed  any  quantity  of 
provisions.  We  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  them,  I 
assure  you  ;  there  were  enough  to  make  us  all  sick.  And 
as  there  was  too  much,  somebody  might  as  well  get 
something  out  of  it,  don't  you  think  ?  Every  time  the 
coffee  was  dealt  out  I  boned  three  or  four  sacks,  which 
I  sold  for  fifteen  or,  say,  twenty  francs.  And  the  same 
with  the  chocolate.  When  I  came  down  from  Montrouge 
Avith  a  cartload  of  provisions,  I  sold  half  of  them  on  the 
road ;  a  bowl  of  rice  for  tenpence,  and  the  other  things 
in  proportion.  And  the  clothes,  too — what  a  lot  I  got 
hold  of  and  sold  !  And  the  fatigue  duty,  too  ;  there  was 
something  to  be  made  out  of  that.  We  squared  matters 
with  the  corporals,  who,  being  of  our  lot,  were  not  too 
hard  on  us,  and  sent  the  bourgeois  out  to  cut  firewood  in 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  Those  who  did  not  care  for  the 
Prussian  bullets  while  gathering  faggots  would  give  us 
ten  francs,  fifteen  francs,  to  take  their  places.  It  was  a 
regular  game — quite  a  spree.  We  went  off  in  gangs, 
ten  of  us  to  bring  in  one  faggot !' 

Then  he  thought  for  a  moment,  and  concluded  :  '  Ah, 
bah !  We  did  not  make  half  enough  money,  you  see,  out 
of  those  pigs !' 

But  to  return  to  Citizen  Chanmoru,  whom  this  digres- 
sion is  not  too  long  to  allow  us  to  pick  up  again.  He  was 
always  treating  us  to  confidences  of  this  nature,  cynical 


100 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


and  amusing,  regarding  the  petty  incidents  of  his  trade- 
A  convinced  revolutionist,  an  ardent  socialist,  a  devourer 
of  priests  and  skinner  of  the  bourgeois — assuredly  he  is 
all  that  to  the  hilt — he  is  a  very  smart  business  man 
into  the  bargain.  And  he  knows  it,  and  likes  to  let 
others  know  it,  while  his  bilious  face  wears  a  shrewd  and 
satisfying  smile. 

'  In  our  trade/  he  will  tell  you  in  his  hours  of  expansion, 
'you  must  be  wide-awake  and  keep  your  eyes  open. 
Without  that,  believe  me,  you  can  do  nothing.  You  must 
be  sharp.  Look  here ;  the  other  night  I  had  the  second 
number  of  La  Lune  on  my  stall.  You  know  the  journal 
has  caricatures  by  Gill.  A  passer-by  caught  sight  of  it 
and  seized  upon  it  eagerly  and  delightedly.  I  said  to- 
myself,  "  My  old  fellow,  I  have  got  you."  "  How  much 
for  this  number  ?"  he  asked.  "  Fifteen  francs."  "  You 
know  I  want  it  ?"  "  I  have  little  doubt  of  it."  He  tried 
to  beat  me  down,  but  I  held  out,  and  I 
landed  him.  All  I  regretted  was  that  I 
had  not  asked  at  least  double.  I  learnt 
afterwards  that  this  citizen  was  engaged 
on  a  monograph  on  Andre  Gill.  For  those 
people,  a  thing  sought  is  priceless,  is  it 
not  so  ?  But  I  found  that  out  too  late.. 
It  was  annoying,  all  the  same.  I  lost 
quite  a  louis  there.  You  must  make  the 
best  of  circumstances  and  do  things 
neatly  !' 

After  all,  it  is  not  only  Citoyen  Chan- 
moru  who  has  discovered  this  commercial 
theory,  and  boasts  of  applying  it.  '  How 
much  for  this  stuff?'  asked  a  certain  clerk, 
ticketing  a  piece  which  had  just  come  in.  '  From  two 
francs  fifty  to  ten  francs,  according  to  the  stupidity  and 
eagerness  of  the  customer,'  replied  the  master.  The 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  OF  TO-DAY 


formula  is  brutal,  but  it  expresses  the  hidden  thought  of 
the  seller — and  should  it  not  also  be  said  of  the  buyer  as 
well  ?  Both  wish  to  obtain  the  most  and  give  the  least. 
It  is  a  struggle  of  acuteness,  in  which,  for  evident  reasons, 
it  is  the  exception  for  the  buyer,  unless  he  buys  to  sell 
again,  to  have  the  last  word. 

Such  is,  we  cannot  deny  it,  the  morality  of  trade, 
whether  it  be  in  old  books,  in  furniture,  or  in  jewellery. 
That  may  not  be  a  sufficient  motive  for  setting  up 
Citoyen  Chanmoru  as 
a  model,  as  was  done 
once  under  the  signature 
of  Jean  Frollo,  by  a 
journalist  who  ought  to 
have  known  better. 

Developing  or  modi- 
fying in  an  acceptable 
and  practical  sense  the 
favourite  idea  of  Chan- 
moru with  regard  to  the 
founding  of  a  syndicate 
for  the  welfare  of  the 
bookstall-keepers,  the 
writer  described  a  good 
time  coming,  in  which 

these  gentlemen  would  be  people  of  importance  with  whom 
we  should  have  to  reckon.  Note,  in  passing,  that  it  is 
not  necessary  to  be  of  importance  for  people  to  have  to 
reckon  with  you  ;  you  need  only  be  honestly  resolved  to 
maintain  your  rights.  The  stall-keepers,  without  emerg- 
ing from  their  humble  sphere,  have  proved  this  every 
time  an  attempt  has  been  made  to  arbitrarily  interfere 
with  them.  '  All  the  minor  trades  are  going  up,'  said  the 
journalist.  '  Look  at  the  shearer  on  the  Pont  des  Arts  ; 
does  he  not  clip  the  poodle's  beard,  doss  he  not  operate 


102  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


on  cats,  and  on  the  ears  in  quite  an  aquatic  salon  ?  If 
this  close  profession  leads  to  luxury  and  respectability, 
what  is  in  store  for  the  stall-keepers,  the  philosophers  of 
the  quays,  who  read  and  observe,  and  who  in  urbanity 
and  good  manners  would  already  give  points  to  certain- 
illustrious  booksellers  of  the  region  of  the  boulevards  ?' 

To  arrive  there,  Jean  Frollo  must  assuredly  have  for- 
gotten his  point  of  departure.  Citoyen  Chanmoru  can 
hardly  be  cited  as  a  paragon  of  sweetness  and  courtesy. 
But  it  is  natural  enough  that  his  eccentricity  would  lead 
one  to  think  of  the  usual  virtues,  and  we  do  not  reproach 
our  journalist  for  having  complimented  all  the  tenants  of 
the  quays  for  the  qualities  which  distinguish  most  of  them. 
And  inasmuch  as  he  sets  us  an  example,  let  us  cross  the 
roads  and  pass  from  one  path  to  another  without  crying 
Beware !  and  exceeding  the  limits  of  our  title ;  and  let 
us  traverse  the  bridges  rather  than  lose  sight  of  a  type 
curious  and  unique,  I  believe,  in 
the  annals  of  bookstall-keeping. 

One  fine  day  on  the  parapet  of 
the  right  bank,  opposite  the  old 
Louvre — a  spot  up  to  then  un- 
sullied by  old  books — there  arose 
a  sort  of  long  lean-to,  sheltering 
boxes  full  of  books,  and  at  the 
same  time  offering  a  refuge  to 
the  curious — the  realization  of  the 

little  dream  of  M.  Jacques,  barring  the  lighting  and  the 
luxury  of  the  installation.  It  was  an  old  officer  of  the 
law  courts  who  had  started  as  a  stall- keeper  and  taken 
possession.  The  passers-by  found  the  lean-to  impeded 
the  traffic  on  the  quay,  and  complained ;  the  stall-keepers 
on  the  left  bank,  alarmed  at  an  opposition  which  might 
destroy  the  species  of  monopoly  which  assured  their 
being  all  of  a  line  on  the  quays,  also  protested  with  the 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  OF  TO-DAY 


103 


vigorous  conviction  that  is  always  inspired  by  a  menaced 
interest.  The  ex-huissier  had  no  other  right  than  that 
of  the  first-comer.  No  one  had  dreamt  of  refusing  him 
permission  to  establish  himself  on  the  spot,  for,  enemy 
of  the  bureaucracy,  the  new  stall-keeper  had  not  even 
asked  permission.  He  was  invited  to  remove  his  planks  ; 
he  paid  no  attention  to  the  demand. 
He  was  given  a  certain  amount  of 
notice,  of  which  he  did  not  avail  him- 
self. At  last  the  Administration,  having 
exhausted  both  patience  and  argument, 
demolished  the  stall  manu  militari. 
Thereupon,  always  in  virtue  of  the 
rights  of  man  and  of  the  citizen,  the 
ex-huissier  continued  his  exploits,  and 
transported  himself  to  the  Quai  du 
Canal  Saint-Martin,  to  again  set  up  his 
monument  of  initiative  and  liberty. 
But  he  did  not  abandon  the  Quai  du 
Louvre :  there  he  maintained  for  a 
length  of  over  thirty  metres  forty- 
two  boxes  remarkably  well  filled.  We 
recently  bought  there  for  a  reasonable  price  a  good 
example  with  the  margins  intact  of  the  Premieres  (Envres 
de  Philippes  Des-Portes,  Paris,  Mamert-Patisson,  1600,  in 
old  binding,  with  many  flourishes  and  much  gilding  on 
the  corner  plates ;  beneath  the  title  were  these  words, 
written  in  ink :  '  Don  de  1'auteur.'  The  copy  bore  the 
book-plate  of  Antoine  Chevalier,  canon  of  Paris,  1650, 
the  book-plate  being  a  long  escutcheon  with  these  words 
inscribed:  Ad  usum  perpetuum  Congregationis  Sacerdotum 
Montis  Valeriani,  1730. 

If  anything  we  can  offer  here  can  contribute  towards 
the  disenchantment  of  the  right  bank,  we  shall  have 
wasted  neither  time  nor  words.  That  long-  desert  of 


104  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

quays  along  the  Pavilion  de  Flore  and  the  Louvre  would 
be  animated  by  a  picturesque,  useful  life  if  the  stall- 
keepers  could  take  up  their  quarters  there  and  find  the 
locality  profitable  enough  at  the  outset.  A  man  of 
enterprise  and  audacity  has  recently  placed  his  boxes  at  the 
end  of  the  Pont  Royal  near  the  steamboat  steps,  facing 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Seine  the  stall  of  Chevalier.  He 
is  polite  and  agreeable,  and  has  a  few  books  among 
which,  according  to  our  taste  and  plans,  we  may  some- 
times find  a  few  good  old  samples  at  reasonable  prices. 
We  wish  him  all  success  in  his  attempt,  and  we  shall  not 
be  [out  of  touch  of  the  levelling  spirit  of  the  age  in 
demanding  for  the  parapets  of  the  right  bank,  as  for 
those  of  the  left,  as  noble  a  crest  of  well-furnished  book- 
boxes. 

Before  we  finish  we  cannot — although  it  may  be  out- 
side our  limit — avoid  mention  of  a  pious  re- 
membrance of  the  old  stall-keeper  of  whom 
Schanne  speaks  in  his  Souvenirs  de  Schau- 
nard,  who  spread  out  his  stall  on  the 
parapet  of  the  Pont  Marie  and  the  Quai 


'  He  allowed  the  passers-by  to  read  at  a 
sou  the  sitting,  and  provided  them  with  a 
chair,'  when  the  customer  did  not  prefer 
to  sit  on  the  parapet.  The  only  reader  to 
whom  he  ever  gave  credit  was  Hegesippe 
Moreau,  the  sickly  face  of  the  poet 
having  evoked  his  pity.  On  the  contrary, 
Miirger  would  never,  in  spite  of  the  generous  resistance 
of  Schaunard,  accept  a  seat  for  a  reading  in  this  '  cabinet 
of  wet  feet.'  Schanne  does  not  tell  us,  perhaps  he  did 
not  know,  the  name  of  this  worthy  man  who  gave  alms 
to  poetry.  Bibliophile  Jacob  knew  him,  without  doubt, 
he  who  knew  all  the  good  people  of  all  the  quays  and 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  OF  TO-DAY  105 

all  the  bridges.  But  he  also  has  departed,  and  the 
benevolent  creditor  of  Hegesippe  Moreau  will  probably 
remain  anonymous.  When  the  weather  suits  and  we  are 
at  leisure  on  our  return  from  England  or  Italy,  we  will 
make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Quai  des  Ormes.  The  books 
are  there  still  if  the  stall-keeper  has  disappeared. 
We  will  talk  to  his  successor,  and  he  will  tell  us  his 
name.  But  life  is  short,  and  the  way  to  the  Quai  des 
Ormes  is  long ! 

When  we  have  spoken  of  the  three  stall-keepers  who 
have  been  delegated  by  their  colleagues  to  arrange  the 
conditions  of  the  Marmier  banquet,  we  shall  have  said  all 
that  is  necessary  of  the  stall-keepers 
of  the  day.  Besides  Corroenne, 
already  mentioned,  representing  the 
Quai  Voltaire,  the  delegates  were : 
for  the  Quai  Malaquais,  Dubosq 
(nephew)  ;  Lefournier,  successor  to 
Pere  Malorey,  for  the  Quai  Conti ; 
and  lastly,  for  the  Quai  Malaquais, 
M.  Ferroud,  a  modest  Savoyard, 
amiable  and  unpretentious,  qualities 
which  cast  a  doubt  on  his  relation- 
ship to  the  bookseller  in  the  Boule- 
vard Saint  Germain,  a  man  quite  , 
out  of  the  ordinary,  in  regard  to  his  . 
Southern  self-satisfied  fluency,  who  is 
always  being  astonished  at  his  com- 
mercial genius  and  boasting  of  his  luck  in  the  book  trade, 
and  the  masterpieces  he  has  had  to  do  with,  and  who, 
good  fellow  as  he  is  after  all,  is  very  much  alive  in  his 
starry  dreams. 

A  genuine  character  is  this  Savoyard  Gascon,  whom  it 
is  amusing  to  meet  with  in  this  gallery  of  the  quays. 

We   must  not  forget  Pere   Rosselin,  the  man    in  the 


io6 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


blouse  and  blue  spectacles,  the  oldest  of  contemporary 
stall-keepers,  who  already  figures  among  our  stall-keepers 
of  the  old  sort  in  our  preceding  chapter. 

We  have  advisedly  said  nothing  up  to  now  regarding 
the  different  stall-keepers  who  sell  medals  and  spectacles 
and  bronzes  and  account-books,  nor  of  those  who  deal 
specially  in  prints  or  songs.     Not  that  these  dealers  are 
uninteresting  and    undeserving    of   notice,    but,   as    the 
Auvergnat   says,  '  That  can  keep  its  place,'  and  to  say 
anything    of    them    would    take 
several  pages  at  least.    The  dealer 
in    spectacles  and  optical  instru- 
ments on  the  Quai  Malaquais  is 
enough  of  a  character  to  merit  a 
slight  sketch  to  himself,  as  also  is 
the   medallist  who  reigns  a  little 
higher  up  by  the  side  of  the  Hotel 
de  la  Monnaie  ;  but  old  books  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them.     That 
is  why  we  prefer,  in  conclusion, 
not    to  omit  to  call   up    the   pic- 
turesque figure  of  the  worthy  A. 
Tisserand,  maker  of  pasteboard,  paper  boxes  and  other 
such  cases  with   fastenings  of  indiarubber,  strings,  and 
buckles. 

A  stall-keeper  on  the  Quai  Malaquais  facing  the  Beaux 
Arts,  Tisserand  has  never  been  away  from  his  dear  boxes 
except  he  was  on  the  great  boulevards  looking  after 
customers  who  ignore  the  pleasant  promenades  of  the 
quays. 

His  stall  is  always  clean  and  striking ;  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find  a  larger  or  more  brilliant  profusion  of 
cards  and  cases  of  various  designs,  richly  covered  in 
brown  leathers,  some  from  Japan,  books  for  drawing,  for 
copying,  for  notes,  of  all  colours  and  all  sizes  and 


THE  STALL-KEEPERS  OF  TO-DAY 


107 


qualities,  with  cloth  corners  and  most  ingenious 
rubber  angles.  For  eleven  years  Tisserand  has 
known  on  the  quays  by  the 
artists  of  the  Beaux  Arts,  the 
students,  the  bibliographers,  and 
the  collectors.  And  so  we  salute 
him  as  we  pass  in  this  gallery  of 
our  stall-keepers  of  the  day,  al- 
though to  our  minds  it  may  still 
be  incomplete. 

Many  are  those  of  whom  we 
have  not  spoken,  our  endeavours 
being  to  offer  only  types  of  some 
originality,  for  we  did  not  at  the 
commencement  of  this  chapter 
intend  to  produce  a  Bottin  des  Bouquinistes. 

PAUCI  SED  ELECTI  has  been  our  motto. 


india- 
been 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES. 

CHARACTERS    AND    FACES. 

ET  us  begin  with  '  The  chase  is  the  image 
of  war,'  which -is  one  of  those  phrases  that 
many  honest  people  repeat  as  opportunity 
offers  without  scruple  or  remorse,  and 
which,  all  things  considered,  are  of  the 
greatest  service  to  the  community — for 
they  fill  the  place  of  absent  ideas,  and 
give  those  who  have  nothing  to  say  something  to  talk 
about.  To  beat  the  fields  at  the  heels  of  a  dog  who  scents 
a  quail,  to  crouch  in  a  thicket  to  shoot  rabbits  at  their 
toilet,  have,  however,  but  a  very  distant  resemblance  to 
the  throwing  out  of  skirmishers  or  the  charge  with  cold 
steel.  The  noble  pastime  of  hunting  the  hare  even, 
although  imperfectly  understood,  as  our  soldiers  under- 
stand European  and  colonial  strategy,  will  hardly  do, 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES          109 


notwithstanding  the  furiously  excited  hunters,  who 
would  make  a  pitiful  appearance  under  a  colonel's  kepi. 
At  most,  experience  in  hunting  the  badger  might  be  of 
some  assistance  at  a  time  when  illustrious  warriors  smoke 
out  innocent  and  fatalistic  Arabs,  like  pigs,  in  their  huts. 

But  if  the  chase  has  analogies  less  and  less  close 
to  that  which  our  gallant  ancestors  called  the  sport  of 
Mars,  it  at  least  takes  so  many  forms  as  to  steal 
into  the  heart  of  man  and  become  its  master.  There  is 
no  passion  more  subtle,  more  insinuating,  more  in- 
satiable, and  more  universal.  We  all  have  within  us 
the  germ  of  a  Nimrod,  which  often  develops  in  an 
unexpected  way.  A  friend,  and  a  dear  one,  professes  a 
sovereign  contempt  for  the  pursuit  of  game,  which  he 
cares  for  only  as  a  dish,  duly  high  and  cooked  to  perfec- 
tion. But  he  scours  the  fields,  skirts  the  hedges  and 
ditches,  loses  himself  in  the  woods  in  search  of  dreams, 
landscapes  and — fungi.  He  trespasses,  clambers  over 
walls,  jumps  over  streams  in  quest  of  mousserons, 
boletuses,  and  agarics,  and  for  views  of  smiling  pasturages 
and  shady  groves  quivering  against  the  sky.  Full  well  he 
knows  the  spots  where  the  good  cryptogams  grow,  hidden 
in  the  grass  or  beneath  the  leaves  ;  he  scents  them  before 
he  sees  them,  and  from  afar  he  distinguishes  them,  recog- 
nising them  by  their  general  aspect  and,  when  near,  by 
their  colour,  lest  under  the  false  appearance  of  an  attrac- 
tive comestible  some  cryptogamic  hypocrite  conceals  a 
mortal  poison.  The  mineralogist  and  his  hammer,  the 
botanist  and  his  vasculum,  the  entomologist  with  his  pins 
and  net,  may  be  scientists,  but  they  are  certainly  hunters. 
And  those  who  run  after  fortune  in  the  hours  when  it 
would  be  healthier  for  them  to  wait  for  it  in  bed — the  fre- 
quenters of  the  gaming-table,  for  example — what  are  they 
but  hunters  after  chance  ?  Lovers  are  but  hunters  after 
woman ;  actors,  but  hunters  after  success ;  misers,  but 


110 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


hunters  after  gold ;    policemen,  but   hunters   after    men. 

Are  we  not  all,  in  a  word,  in  chase  of  excitement  ? 

Well,  of  all  these  impassioned  pursuits,-there  is  none 
more  disturbing,  more  dis- 
tressing in  deception  and 
hope,  more  intellectually  ab- 
sorbing, more  obstinate  in  ill- 
success,  more  insatiable  in 
triumph,  more  abundant  in 
joys,  noble,  healthy  and  pure, 
than  book-hunting.  These 
joys  have  been  celebrated  in 
lyrical  style  too  many  times 
for  us  here  to  attempt  the 
chanting  of  a  dithyramb  with 
a  pindaric  to  follow.  But  we 
can  well  say  that  nobleness, 
salubrity,  and  purity  apart, 


the  joys  of  the  book-hunter  yield  to  none  in  variety  and 
intensity.  The  mere  physical  pleasure  is  not  entirely 
absent ;  to  turn  over  the  pages  of  a  book  long  coveted, 
to  handle  an  unexpected  find,  to  fondle  a  binding,  to 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES          in 


dust  the  edges,  are  exquisite  joys  in  which  the  hand 
shares  with  the  eye.  The  book-hunter  who  hugs  under 
his  arm  a  book  recently  acquired  experiences  the  ecstasy 
and  pride  of  possession.  We  pass  in  silence  the  pleasures 
of  the  really  intellectual  kind  ;  they  are  in  proportion,  not 
to  the  merits  of  the  book,  but,  principally,  to  the  brain  of 
the  hunter. 

For  centuries,  as  is  made  manifest  in  the  brief  digres- 
sions of  our  historic  prolegomena,  the  quays  have  been  the 
favourite  resort  of  these  hunters  of  keen  and  subtle  scent 
and  ardent  blood.  Undoubtedly,  like  all  hunting-grounds, 
the  prey  has  not  increased  with  time ;  the  finer  specimens 
have  disappeared,  and  with  rare  exceptions  there  are  more 
sparrows  than  partridges  among  the  remainder.  This 
phenomenon  of  depopulation  and  the  extinction  of  species 
is  due  to  many  causes,  to  which  we  can  return  farther  on. 
In  1866  M.  Johannis  Guigard  pointed  out  one,  in  an  article 
in  the  Bibliophile  Francais,  entitled  '  Les  Boites  a  quatre 
sols.'*  '  Nowadays,'  he  says,  '  every  well-informed  book- 
stall-keeper is  armed  with  his  Brunet,  his  Querard  and  his 
Barbier.  The  smallest  volume,  the  most  trivial  booklet, 
the  slightest  leaflet,  is  known  ;  its  money  value  is  noted 
in  the  catalogues.'  And  he  adds,  with  reason,  '  It  is  quite 
disheartening.' 

Nevertheless,  it  is  never  good  to  despair.  In  fact,  if  it 
is  not  possible  now  to  find  in  the  twopenny  boxes  of  the 
quays  the  rare  and  precious  books  that  the  excellent,  but 
perhaps  fallacious,  Fontaine  de  Resbecq  pretended  to  have 
found  there,  it  is  not  unusual  to  exhume  from  these  boxes 
and  others — for  the  '  quatre  sols  '  must  be  taken  as  a 
literary  generalization — curious  things,  uncommon,  en- 
dowed with  all  the  qualities,  without  even  excepting  the 
low  price,  which  content  a  collector. 

*  Fifty   copies   printed   separately.      Paris,  Bachelin-  Deflorenne, 
1866,  8vo. 


112 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


The  good  and  charming  Banville  was  pleased  to  intro- 
duce to  the  public  which  enjoyed  his  chronicles  a  great 
poet,  young  and  poor,  who  lunched  when  he  could,  and 
formed  a  library  of  all  the  masterpieces  of  all  the  litera- 
tures by  judicious  and  repeated  acquisitions  from  the 
humble  penny  box.  There  we  have  M.  de  Resbecq  out- 
done. It  is  true  that  he  did  not  buy  first  editions  or  rare 
copies.  But,  at  least,  in  the  character  described  by  the 
worthy  Banville,  there  is  no  exaggeration  beyond  the 
indefinable  breath  of  poetry,  by  which,  fortunately,  the 
real  is  transfigured  into  the  ideal. 
A  stall-keeper  who  has  put  at  our 
service  his  experiences  of  life  on 
the  quays,  divides  the  book- 
hunters  into  three  groups  : 
First,  the  constant  ones, 
who  never  miss  their  daily 
walk  before  the  boxes,  any 
more  than  a  Chasseur 
d'Afrique  in  garrison  misses 
his  absinthe  before  dinner ; 
secondly,  the  irregulars, 
whom  occupations  and  dis- 
tant homes,  besides  their 
habits,  keep  away,  but  who,  when  chance  brings  them 
on  the  quays,  experience  a  pleasure  as  great  as  it  is  rare 
and  brief,  in  a  rapid  examination  of  the  stalls ;  thirdly, 
the  mere  passers-by,  from  whom  so  many  books  all  of  a 
row  secures  a  glance,  careless  at  first,  then  interested, 
and  then  awaking  in  them  a  temptation  to  buy. 

It  is  for  these,  more  than  all,  that  the  dealer  in  old 
books  displays  all  the  resources  and  acuteness  of  the 
stall-keeper.  To  set  out  a  stall  well  is  psychology  in 
action — nothing  less.  In  this  sort  of  thing  he  must  not 
only  be  acquainted  with  the  differences  in  the  social  posi- 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES          113 

tion  and  standard  of  education  of  the  persons  who  daily 
pass  along  the  quays,  but  know  also  their  turn  of  mind 
and  their  state  of  inclination.  New 
volumes  in  brilliant  yellow  covers, 
still  fresh,  well  furnished  with  pages 
and  compact  in  text,  will  attract  the 
sentimental  work-girls,  the  cooks, 
the  small  employers,  and  other  suc- 
cessors of  the  rustics  of  Boileau — 
'  great  readers  of  romances.'  The 
favourite  books  have  sensational 
titles,  with  picture  covers,  which  are 
laid  on  their  sides,  pleasantly  break- 
ing the  monotony  of  the  files  of 
yellow-backs,  and  making  the  whole 
display  more  attractive. 

La  Clef  des  Songes,  Le  Langage  des  Fleiirs,  Lc  Secretaire 
des  A  mants,  L' Oracle  des  Dames,  in  new  and  popular  editions, 
in  bindings  glowing  in  gaudy  colours,  are  sure  to  sell. 
Errand  boys,  gutter  boys,  bakers' 
boys,  nurses,  and  soldiers,  loiter 
before  them,  and  unless  the  volume 
is  already  cut,  and  they  can 
consult  it  easily  on  the  spot,  ^- 
often  feel  in  the  bottom  of 
their  pocket  for  a  few  sous 
to  buy  it  with.  La  Cuisiniere 
bourgeois  has  attractive  vir- 
tues for  quiet  housewives 
which  they  would  not  be 
wise  to  neglect.  Out-of-date 
editions  of  La  Harpe,  Buffon, 
L 'Encyclopedic,  the  works  of  Voltaire,  of  Jean  Jacques 
Rousseau,  undoubtedly  still  excite  the  ambition  of  the 
incorruptible  Joseph  Prudhomme,  who  dreams  of  fur- 

8 


114 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


nishing  with  a  solemn  library  the  expanse  of  wall-space 
in  his  dining-room,  to  balance  some  monumental  side- 
board, or  who  contemplates  a  useful  present  to  his  off- 
spring when  he  leaves  college.  That  is  their  ultimate 
fate. 

The  red-and-blue  bindings  glittering  with  gold  fascinate 
the  little  boys  and  girls  who,  clinging  with  their  little 
hands,  bring  along  their  papas  and  mammas,  whose  re- 
sistance to  making  them  happy  is  usually  of  the  slightest 
if  only  they  promise  some  day  to  be  wiser.  And  they 
are  equally  attractive  to  the  pastry- 
cook, the  hobbledehoy,  and  the 
worthy  little  telegraphists,  who  are 
always  so  eager  not  to  take  to 
their  addresses  their  little  blue 
envelopes. 

A  few  illustrated  books,  open  at 
a  striking  picture,  in  addition  to 
some  old  volumes  in  their  original 
parchment  covers,  and  a  few  art 
publications,  are  thrown  out  as 
scouts  to  catch  the  eye  of  the 
scholar,  the  artist,  the  man  of  the 
world,  who  by  chance  passes  by.  It 

has  happened  to  many  to  be  thus  arrested  on  their  way  by 
an  interesting  book,  to  conceive  a  taste  for  book-hunting, 
and  become  in  consequence  quite  assiduous  customers. 

If  the  stall-keeper  has  any  special  parcels,  on  law  for 
instance,  or  on  any  particular  science,  he  generally  stands 
all  these  books  together,  thus  facilitating  exploration  and 
saving  the  time  of  the  visitor,  besides  multiplying  his 
chances  of  sale. 

Books  of  piety,  imitations,  psalters,  catechisms,  hours, 
offices,  breviaries,  religious  gift-books,  meditations,  and 
prayers,  have  also  a  box  to  themselves.  The  ecclesi- 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES          115 

astical  professor  desirous  of  rewarding  a  good  pupil,  the 
•economical  mamma  seeking  a  First  Communion  book  for 
her  daughter,  the  husband  who,  having  promised  his 
wife  a  Prayer-book,  is  not  sorry  to  keep  his  word  at  a 
discount  of  sixty  per  cent.,  the  semi- 
narist, the  good  sister,  the  pious  old 
maid,  the  priest  on  a 
journey,  who  can  only 
renew  his  breviary  on 
the  cheap,  find  here 
what  they  want. 

So  it  is  with  classical 
books.     The  dealer  ar- 
ranges them  in  classes 
—  grammars,      mathematics, 
Greek  authors,  Latin  authors, 
German      authors,      English 
authors.     A  few  stall-keepers 
make  a  specialty  of  this  kind 

of  thing,  particularly  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Place 
Saint-Michel.  It  is  in  their  box  that  the  student  forages 
in  search  of  a  '  juxtalinear  '  or  a  Key  ;  the  poor  usher  or 
exhibitioner,  who  consults  the  learned  editions  in  the 
libraries,  but  wants  to  have  at  hand  the  texts  prescribed 
in  the  examination  programmes  ;  the  father  of  the  family, 
whose  sons  are  growing  up  and  costing  more,  and  who 
strives  with  heroism  to  maintain  the  unstable  equilibrium 
of  his  budget ;  the  head  of  the  institution  or  the  professor 
unattached,  who  undertake  to  provide  their  pupils  with 
books,  and  endeavour  with  ingenuity  to  make  a  profit  out 
of  the  supply.  It  is  a  periodical  flow  of  customers, 
-changing,  renewable,  mixed  and  amusing,  but  always  the 
same,  in  type,  in  pecuniary  resources,  and  in  wants. 

The  ladies  who  have  occasion  to  pass  along  the  quays 
— in  small  numbers,  however,  for  they  cross  the  quays, 


n6 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


and  do  not  walk  along  them — are  glad  to  give  a  glance  at 
the  stalls,  and  do  not  disdain  to  touch  the  books  with  the 
tips  of  their  gloved  fingers.  The  stall-keepers  do  not 
like  them  much.  They  complain  of  the  way  in  which 
they  hold  the  books  in  one  hand, 
of  their  opening  them  badly ;  of 
their  never  putting  them  back  in 
their  places  ;  of  their  turning  over 
their  leaves  for  a  long  time  before 
deciding  to  buy,  and  if  by  chance 
they  want  one,  they  try  to  bargain 
for  it  as  if  it  were  a  lobster  or  a 
fowl.  They  ask  for  information 
on  all  sorts  of  subjects  which  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  matter  on 
hand,  make  utterly  amazing  re- 
flections, and  ask  the  most  pre- 
posterous questions. 

We  heard  one  of  them,  pointing  to  the  dilapidated 
volume  of  a  novel  published  a  long  time  ago  by  Bossange, 
ask  the  dealer  if  he  could  get  her  the  second  volume  as 
soon  as  it  appeared.  Another  would  insist  on  obtaining 
the  last  volume  but  one  of  the  Journal  dcs  Demoiselles.  A 
lady  of  a  certain  age,  most  serious  in  dress  and  deport- 
ment, descended  from  her  carriage  to  walk  a  little  on  the 
quay,  followed  by  her  man-servant,  and,  seeing  a  copy  of 
Au  Bonheur  dcs  Dames  in  a  box,  asked  the  stall-keeper  if  he 
had  the  same  work  by  M.  Georges  Ohnet.  He  did  not 
have  it ;  she  deeply  regretted  the  fact,  and  majestically  got 
into  her  carriage,  while  the  worthy  man  bowed  very  low 
to  hide  his  overpowering  hilarity. 

The  dealers  are  not  all  of  this  easy  jovial  humour. 
There  are  growlers,  surly  fellows,  frank  misogynists 
amongst  them,  who  take  no  pains  to  hide  from  the  ladies 
when  opportunity  offers  the  little  they  care  for  them  and 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES 


117 


their  annoyance.  They  walk  on  their  heels,  they  jostle 
against  them  as  they  pass,  they  plant  themselves  squarely 
before  them,  they  stick  out  an  anything  but  elegant  arm 
right  under  their  noses  to  replace  or  dis- 
place the  volume  they  have  just  opened, 
accompanying  their  unequivocal 
gestures  with  half-audible  remarks, 
not  at  all  flattering,  and  occasion- 
ally abominably  rude. 

And  here  it  may  be  as  well  to 
remark,  to  be  just  to  all,  that  cer- 
tain stall- keepers  have  a  jealousy  of  order 
which  they  would  do  well  to  moderate. 
An  amateur  may  not  have  finished  in- 
vestigating a  box  in  which  he  has  not 
looked  at  a  book  which  he  has  not  care- 
fully put  back  in  its  place,  when  the 
dealer  is  at  his  side,  picking  out  the  volumes,  dusting 
them  with  his  sleeve,  and  arranging  them  in  a  new  way 
as  if  to  purify  them  from  contamination. 
The  proceeding  may  be  exceedingly  clever  ; 
but  it  is,  to  say  the  least,  rather  confusing, 
and  uselessly  vexatious. 

Since   our   learned   ladies   left   the 
theatre  to  invade  society,  the  army  of 
book-huntresses  has  been  augmented     ,'T 
by  a  new  type,  of  which  the  principal 
representatives    are   the  student  and 
the  lady  lecturer.    Of  her  who  has  passed 
her  examinations,  secured  her  diplomas, 
and  gained  a  chair  in  some  college  for 
girls,  we  say  nothing ;  she  only  appears 
on   the  quays  at  long  intervals,  and  is 
willingly  mistaken  for  the  terrible  blue-stocking ;  as  one 
so  is  the  other,  the  angularity  and  pedantry  increasing 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


with  age  ;  both  run  quickly  and  easily  enough  through  a 
book  at  a  stall,  monopolizing  the  box  against  which  they 
have   installed  themselves,  even    taking   notes   for  their 
lecture,   then   throwing    the    book 
negligently  away  and  always  moving 
off  without  buying  anything,  a  pro- 
ceeding embarrassing,  but  ingenious 
and  convenient. 

^  The  student  or  can- 

didate attending  lec- 
tures and  living  in  the 
Quartier  Latin,  is  more 
frequently  met  with. 
She  has  already  the 
manners  of  her  elders, 
and  has  even  fewer 
scruples  in  seeking  her 
own  advantage.  She 
comes  to  find  the 
answer  to  a  question, 
to  study  a  problem,  to 
learn  a  formula,  to 
seek  a  definition.  She 
gains  her  end,  and 
troubles  herself  little 
about  other  people 
when  she  is  looking 
after  herself.  She 
would  buy  if  she  had 
the  money,  for  she 
likes  books ;  but  money 
she  has.  none.  Then 

what  would  you  have  her  do,  except  avail  herself  of  the 
facilities  afforded  by  the  stalls  ?  And  these  she  uses  until 
she  abuses  them.  From  that  point  to  slipping  a  useful 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES          119 

book  into  her  pocket  or  under  her  cloak  is,  to  feminine 
logic,  but  a  distance  relatively  small,  and  some  of  these 
ladies  boldly  take  the  step.  We  shall  find  them  again  in 
the  chapter  specially  devoted  to  the  book-stealers.  Others 
— for  there  are  exceptions — take  a  middle  course  to  obtain 
as  a  gift  what  they  cannot  pay  for,  and  endeavour  to 
practise  on  the  gallantry  of  their  neighbour.  In  a  little 
book  of  practical  and  familiar  morals  we  met  with  a 
characteristic  anecdote  on  this  subject  of  book-lifting. 

'  One  day  in  June,'  says  the  author,  our  friend  B.-H. 
Gausseron,  '  I  was  prying  into  the  boxes  of  the  second- 
hand booksellers  along  the  quays.  I  soon  noticed  the 
persistent  presence  of  a  young  woman,  who,  sometimes 
passing  me,  and  sometimes  letting  me  pass  her,  was 
running  through  with  a  feverish  hand  the  same  boxes  as 
myself.  She  called  the  stall-keeper.  "  Have  you  Blank's 
Geometry  and  Blank's  Physics  ?"  naming  two  authors  of 
manuals  for  the  examination  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  who, 
illustrious  as  they  might  be  among  our  young  students, 
are  quite  unknown  to  me.  The  man  shook  his  head  and 
moved  away.  "  I  like  that  !"  continued  the  girl  in  a  loud 
voice,  turning  to  me  ;  "  I  have  not  a  sou  to  buy  them.  I 
shall  not  be  ready  for  my  examination.  Such  is  life  !"  I 
interrogated  her.  She  was  in  a  boarding-school  at 
Billancourt,  sub-mistress  "  au  pair ";  that  is  to  say,  in 
exchange  for  board  and  lodging.  She  had  not  her  certi- 
ficate, for  she  was  still  too  young,  and  yet  it  was  necessary 
for  her  to  have  it  to  improve  her  position.  But  she  was 
too  far  away,  and  too  much  occupied  to  attend  the  public 
lectures,  and  she  had  no  money  to  buy  books.  All  she 
could  do  was  to  find  somebody  who  would  help  her  out  of 
her  difficulty.  For  the  moment  she  was  going  to  a  friend 
who  was  in  furnished  apartments  in  the  Rue  Sevres,  a 
few  yards  off,  where  she  was  as  if  at  home,  and  where  she 
spent  the  afternoon  when  she  was  off  duty  on  Sundays 


120 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


and  Thursdays.  I  bowed  gravely,  and  remarked  that  the 
afternoon  was  already  far  advanced,  and  that  she  would 
have  to  hurry.  For  a  moment  her  eyes  wore  a  strange 
look,  a  slight  fugitive  blush  mounted  to  her  eyelids,  and 
she  sprang  into  the  road  to  disappear  almost  immediately 
under  the  gateways  of  the  Institute,  like  a  frigate  on  a 
cruise,  which  always  appears  as  if  towing  a  prize.'* 

We  may  here,  in  the  manner  of  Balzac,  place  an  affirm- 
ative axiom,  or  rather  an  absolute  aphorism  : 
The  woman  of  fashion  never  goes  book-hunting. 
The   aversion   which    the    bookstall-man    has   for    the 
robe  does  not  stop  at  the  woman  ; 
it  extends  to  the  priest.     According 
tohim, they  are  meddlers  suf- 
fering simultaneously  from 
desire  and  scruple.     If  any 
profane  book  tempts  them, 
they  save   their   soul   from 
this  demon  by  appealing  to 
another  demon  still  more  crooked 
— avarice.     They   bargain   without 
shame,  offering  a  ridiculous   price, 
and  thus   making  it  impossible  for 
them    to    sin   by   concupiscence    of 
intellect.     Probably  they  do  not  in- 
-_:==.  crease  their  credit  in  the  great  book 

of  Paradise  ;   for  they  are  the  tor- 
ment of  all  dealers — at  least  the  dealers  say  so. 

As  to  those  who  dream  not  of  acquisitions  that  would 
bring  a  blush  to  their  cassocks,  it  is  occasionally  possible 
to  do  business  with  them,  the  books  they  choose  being 
generally  '  nightingales  '  that  the  stall-keeper  is  always 
glad  to  send  to  sing  in  another  cage  at  any  price,  such  as 

*  B.-H.    Gausseron.     Que  faire  de  nos  filles  ?     Paris:    Librairie 
illustr^e,  I  vol.,  i8mo. 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES          121 


certain  books  quoted  in  Gallia  Christiana,  very  pleasing  to 
part  with. 

Among    the    casual    customers,   the    gentleman    well 
dressed  and   decorated    is   particularly   formidable.     No 
one  disputes  with  more  vigour  and  less  reason  the  price 
of  a  book  than   the 
correct      gentleman,  _-    ^    |jl,     ^_. 

...  ,  -^.^fe  -ftf/J^nr     "rssTZ. 

who  brings  a  louis 
out  of  a  purse  loaded 
with  gold  and  silver, 


and  hence  this  aphorism,  which  none  can  deny: — among 
book-hunters  those  who  make  the  most  rattle  have  the 
most  cash. 

The  '  irregulars  '  are,  for  the  most  part,  Government 
functionaries,  clerks,  and  occasionally  wealthy  bibliophiles 
struck  with  a  fleeting  desire  to  undertake  for  themselves 
the  task  of  skimming  the  cream,  which  some  bookseller 
in  the  passages  or  on  the  boulevards  has,  as  a  rule,  the 
custom  and  the  commission  of  doing  for  them. 


122  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

They  try  their  hands  at  everything — prints,  music, 
plays,  current  literature,  technical  studies,  works  on  the 
fine  arts,  old  editions  of  classic  authors,  early  printed 
books,  and  books  of  gallantry.  The  round  of  the 
quays  is  quite  a  holiday  for  them.  They  turn  the  books 
over,  finger  them,  handle  them,  ogle  them,  and  enjoy 
themselves  to  their  heart's  content.  They  are  never 
without  hope  of  lighting  upon  the  extraordinary,  such  as 
an  Elzevir,  thumbed  or  cut  down,  a  Sambix,  a  Marteau, 
something  marked  with  the  sphere  or  the  anchor  of  the 
Aldine  Dauphins,  or  the  tree  of  the  Estiennes,  a  Gryphe, 
a  Plantin,  a  Cazin,  questionable  or  defective,  a  Cramoisy 
quarto,  or  a  Barbin  duodecimo.  Every  symptom  of  the 
day  before  yesterday's  book  mania  is  theirs,  to  trouble 
them,  to  excite  them,  and  to  lead  them  to  buy  largely. 
But  if  they  have  old  tastes  they  have  old  traditions. 
They  are  hard  at  a  bargain,  and  begin 
by  offering  the  dealer  half  what  he 
asks,  and  only  meeting  him  sou  by  sou, 
stingy  and  haggling  without  shame, 
convinced  that  they  will  be  robbed  if 
they  give  a  hundred  sous  for  what  they 
would  pay  a  big  bookseller  a  louis  for 
without  the  least  demur. 

These  are  valuable  customers,  for 
they  bring  into  circulation  many  books 
which  without  them  would  remain  un- 
disturbed at  the  bottom  of  the  boxes. 
And  yet  the  bookstall-man  does  not  like  them,  and  always 
complains  of  them.  This  may  be  owing  to  their  disap- 
pointment in  having  to  abate  the  hopes  which  every  dealer 
naturally  conceives  at  the  appreciation  of  a  new  customer. 
The  amateur,  who  after  all  knows  his  business,  would 
not  come  there  if  he  were  not  in  search  of  a  bargain, 
and  as  the  dealer  is  always  more  anxious  to  sell  than  the 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES 


123 


patron  to  buy,  it  is  inevitable  that  he  should  be  the  first 
to  give  way,  much  as  he  may  growl  at  having  to  do  so. 

It  is  in  the  regular  class  that  the  types  are  more 
marked  ;  among  them  it  is  that  we  can  most  easily  pick 
out  and  study  our  originals.  The  assiduous  book-hunter, 
such  as  was  formerly  met  with,  never  spending  a  day 
without  a  visit  to  the  boxes  at  about  the  same  hour,  is 
becoming  rarer  and  rarer.  Modern  life,  overheated  and 
overdriven,  with  difficulty  admits  of  regular  periodic 
leisure.  One  is  not  often  free,  and  it  is  very  difficult  to 
be  for  two  or  three  days  together 
in  the  same  place  at  the  same 
hour.  Again,  the  bibliophile 
or  bibliomaniac  who  collects  in 
one  particular  line,  the  man  of 
study  who  seeks  materials  and 
documents,  resents  the  invasion 
ofthebonqninaiUc — that  is  to  say, 
modern  books  of  no  value  or 
interest,  which  every  day  drift 
into  the  boxes  in  greater  num- 
bers. These  men  come  only  at 
long  intervals,  knowing  that 
older  books  are  not  often  rein- 
forced on  the  parapets,  and  that  one  visit  a  week  is  quite 
enough  to  keep  them  up  to  date  with  new  arrivals.  They 
are  sure  to  put  in  an  appearance  the  day  after  some  large 
sale  of  a  bookseller's  stock  or  a  private  collection,  hoping 
to  find  at  one  or  other  of  the  stalls  a  few  substantial  wrecks, 
some  choice  lots  which  they  overhaul  with  a  joy  all  the 
greater  from  their  having  so  few  opportunities  to  display 
it.  But  for  these  windfalls  how  many  times  have  they 
to  linger  sorrowfully  along  the  river  bank,  like  herons 
with  their  neck  in,  who  are  not  in  a  position  to  despise  a 
snail  when  there  is  nothing  within  range  of  their  appetite. 


124  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


And  this  leads  to  a  state  of  things  which  we  may 
describe  as  synallagmatic.  The  hunters  make  their  visits 
rarer  on  account  of  the  rarity  of  the  books  it  is  worth 
their  while  to  trouble  about ;  the  dealers  hesitate  to  show 
the  best  things  they  get  at  the  sales,  the  interesting 
bargains  that  occasionally  fall  to  them,  on  account  of  the 
rarity  of  the  hunters'  visits.  Many  used  to  be  the  stall- 
keepers  who,  when  chance  sent  them  good  books,  were 
eager  to  lay  them  in  special  boxes  to  attract  the  attention 
of  some  particular  buyer,  whom  they  knew  well,  and  on 
whose  visit  they  could  depend.  But  this  regularity  no 
longer  exists,  and  disappointment  has  soured  most  of  the 
dealers.  The  books  lie  about,  get  covered  with  dust, 
shrivelled  up  in  the  sun,  are  thumbed  and  dog's-eared  by 
the  passers-by,  and  when  the  connoisseur  comes  at  last 
and  sees  their  deplorable  state,  he  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  them.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  under  these 
circumstances  the  stall-keeper  generally  leaves  these 
books  in  his  store-room,  to  which  the  higher-class  book- 
sellers have  long  since  learnt  the  way.  It  is  there  in  the 
morning  that  the  pick  of  the  basket  is  generally  parted 
with. 

More  and  more  is  it  becoming  the  custom  for  the 
bibliophile  to  hunt  at  home,  and  there,  by  the  fireside, 
run  through  the  catalogues  of  the  booksellers ;  and  the 
stall-keeper,  not  caring  for  a  book  which  will  only  be 
asked  for  when  he  cannot  get  his  price,  sinks  to  a  mere 
seller  of  '  nightingales '  and  the  current  rubbish  of 
literature. 

And  yet  the  evil  is  neither  universal  nor  beyond 
remedy.  There  are  always  large  quantities  of  old  books 
on  the  quays,  and  there  remain  a  good  number  of  in- 
telligent men  who,  besides  the  mere  pleasure  of  the 
search,  know  how  to  find  enough  to  make  them  feel  that 
they  have  not  lost  their  time. 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES          125 

The  tradition  has  not  been  broken,  and  the  bibliophiles 
of  to-day,  like  their  predecessors,  do  not  despise,  although 
they  may  enjoy  it  less,  an  afternoon  stroll  along  the 
boxes,  whence  it  is  the  exception  for  them  not  to  extract 
a  few  volumes,  not  very  precious  undoubtedly,  but  of  a 
kind  to  be  of  use  in  their  studies,  if  not  acquisitions  to 
their  collections. 

It  was  in  thinking  of  these  that  Amedee  Pommier,  in 
Paris,  a  humorous  publication,  perpetrated  the  following 
shockingly  bad  verses  on  the  stall-keepers  of  his  time  ; 
that  is,  about  1865  : 

'  En  dehors  des  bibliotheques, 
II  a  les  parapets  des  quais, 
Ou  souvent  d'eldgants  keepsakes, 
De  crasseux  bouquins  sont  flanques. 
Fdru  de  la  bibliomanie, 
Malgre  sa  poche  peu  garnie, 
A  son  aise,  il  prend,  il  manie 
Tous  ces  volumes  de  hasard. 
II  ouvre  et  lit  meme  en  cachette 
Tel  livre  edite  par  Hachette, 
Eh  bien  que  jamais  il  n'achete 
De  nous  autres  il  prend  sa  part.' 

Even  in  the  present  day  we  find  the  stall-keepers  of  the 
quays  have  had  as  their  tributaries  all  the  men  who  have 
loved  books,  or  have  known  how  to  make  the  best  of 
them  —  Charles  Nodier,  Jules  Janin,  Sainte  -  Beuve, 
Gustave  Planche,  who  sold  more  than  he  bought, 
Miirger,  Colline,  the  two  Nisards,  Asselineau,  and  finally 
Hippolyte  Rigault,  who  wrote  these  lines  to  move  the 
hearts  of  all  the  frequenters  of  the  quays  : 

'The  love  of  old  books,  unassuming,  badly  bound, 
bought  for  little  and  sold  for  nothing,  is  a  real  passion, 
sincere,  with  nothing  artificial  about  it,  into  which  neither 
calculation  nor  affection  enters.  It  is  a  healthy  feeling, 
this  culture  of  the  mind,  this  touching  respect  for  the 


126 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


most  dilapidated  monuments  of  human  thought ;  it  is  a 
healthy  feeling,  this  veneration  for  the  books  of  former 
days,  which  our  fathers  knew,  and 
which  perhaps  were  their  friends 
and  confidants.  You  count  your 
captives  with  the  air  of  a  conqueror, 
you  range  them  one  by  one  on 
humble  shelves ;  they  are  loved, 
fondled,  made  much  of,  in  spite  of 
their  poverty,  as  if  they  were  clothed 
in  gold  and  silk.' 

While  there  are  people  who  think 
like  this  the  stalls  on  the  parapets 
will  be  in  no  want  of  buyers.  It  is 
for  them,  with  their  minds  culti- 
vated and  refined,  their  hearts  in- 
genuous and  subtle,  that  'the  Quai 
Voltaire  is  a  veritable  museum  in 
the  full  sunshine,'  along  which 

'  On  bouquine.     On  revoit  sous  la  poudre  des  temps 
Tous  les  chers  oublies  ;  et  parfois,  6  surprise  ! 
Le  volume  de  vers  que  1'on  fit  a  vingt  ans  !'* 

One  of  these  friends  of  old  books,  who  was  also  a  friend 
of  the  stall-keepers,  for  all  those  who  met  him  loved  him, 
has  left  along  the  quays,  and  even  beyond  the  Pont 
Saint-Michel,  many  a  regret  of  which  tradition  will 
assuredly  temper  the  remembrance.  In  this  portrait  which 
a  poet  has  traced  nepotically  in  his  Rimes  Bouquini'ercs^ 
will  be  recognised  Bibliophile  Jacob. 

'  II  s'en  va  Pceil  au  guet,  comrrie  un  bon  chien  de  chasse, 
Le  long  des  quais  Conti,  Voltaire  et  Malaquais, 
Flairant  tous  les  bouquins,  inspectant  les  paquets 
De  livres  noirs,  poudreux  et  mordore's  de  crasse. 


*  Gabriel  Marc,  Sonnets  Parisiens. 

f  Maurice  du  Seigneur,  Le  Conseiller  du  Bibliophile,  1876. 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES          127 


1  Ilia  de  beaux  cheveux  boucle's  et  1'air  bonasse  ; 
Des  auteurs  vieils  et  neufs  il  sait  les  sobriquets, 
Mais  preTere  Restif  et  les  minois  coquets 
Des  Fanchettes  pieds  fins  aux  muses  du  Parnasse. 

'  II  est  des  Amateurs  un  des  plus  competents, 
Un  des  plus  vieux  peut-etre  :  on  dit  qu'il  a  cent  ans — 
On  croit  qu'il  en  a  vingt  quand  on  voit  comme  il  file. 

'  II  a'fait  des  romans,  des  vers,  plus  d'un  journal. 
Son  cerveau  de  science  est  tout  un  arsenal  ; 
C'est  notre  maitre  a  tous  c'est  le  Bibliophile! 

Just  before  his  death,  Paul  Lacroix  showed  us,  in  his 
store-room  in  the  Arsenal,  where  he  accumulated  his 
private  library,  bundles  of  books  still  tied  up,  his  last 
harvest  brought  home  the  night  before  by  the  dealers 
from  whose  stalls  he  had  gathered  it,  and  which  lay  on 
the  floor  until  he  had  leisure  to  examine  and  classify  it. 
We  may  fairly  suppose  that  these  books  remained  un- 
touched as  we  saw  them,  and  their  sellers  bought  them 
back  at  the  Bibliophile's  sale  tied  up  in  the  same  string  as 
they  had  sent  them  home.  But  the  stall-keepers  have 
never  found  a  buyer  to  adequately  fill  the  place  left 
vacant  by  Bibliophile  Jacob.  He  possessed  the  most 
astonishing  collection  of  the  romances  of  the  eighteenth 
century  and  of  the  Imperial  period,  and  he  never  ceased 
to  add  to  it.  These  duodecimos  clothed  in  dirty  calf,  in 
greasy  sheepskin,  or  in  gray  paper  boards,  were  only 
sought  by  him  ;  his  disappearance  has  deprived  them  of 
all  value.  He  also  bought  collections  of  the  literary 
journals  of  the  first  half  of  this  century ;  and  therein  he 
was  wise,  for  they  are  mines  inexhaustible,  and  almost 
unworked  by  the  bibliographer  and  the  man  of  curiosity. 
Be  it  as  it  may,  we  do  not  imagine  that  he  will  have  a 
successor  in  the  search  of  these  documents,  in  which  the 
rubbish  is  mixed  with  the  useful  in  very  unequal  propor- 
tions, and  which  take  up  a  considerable  amount  of  room. 


128 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


Among  the  picturesque  book-hunters  we  have  known 
during  the  last  twelve  or  fifteen  years,  was  one  curious 
character  of  singular  appearance,  who  collected  engrav- 
ings, and  who  on  account  of  his  wide- 
brimmed  felt  hat  and  his  large  collar 
turned  down  in  the  fashion  of  the 
sixteenth  century  was  known  by  the 
stall-keepers  as  Pere  Rembrandt ; 
he  was  always  on  the  quay  buying 
eagerly  and  busily.  What  has  be- 
come of  this  eccentric  who  was  the 
joy  of  our  eyes  ? 

It  is  impossible  for  us  not  to 
bestow  a  greeting  on  the  memory  of 
the  great  book-hunters  now  gone, 
who  have  been  celebrated  for  more 
than  half  a  century,  and  whose  re- 
nown has  extended  to  our  own  day,  such  as  the  famous 
Parisian  called,  with  good  cause,  the  Roi  des  bouquineurs. 
He  it  was  who  one  day  found  on  the  quay  for  nineteen 
sous  an  edition  of  Julius  Ccesar,  by  Plantin  (1570,  8vo.), 
ending  with  a  portrait  of  that  emperor,  and  bearing  the 
unmistakable  autograph  of  Montaigne.  This  book  was 
sold  for  1,500  francs.  A  splendid  windfall  ! 

Among  other  valued  book-hunters  were  Chardon  and 
La  Rochette,  Van  Praet,  Alexandre  Barbier,  the  Marquis 
de  Mejanes,  Heber  Tenurb,  Quatremere,  and  beyond  all 
M.  C.-M.  Pillet,  who  carried  the  rage  for  old  books  to 
such  an  excess  that  he  deprived  himself  of  food  and 
clothing  to  be  able  to  spend  all  he  had  on  the  disinherited 
of  the  quays.  He  amassed  until  he  died  so  many  books 
that  his  lodgings  began  to  give  way,  and,  according  to  his 
last  wishes,  it  was  necessary,  in  taking  his  collection  to 
the  Jesuits  of  Chambery,  to  load  the  many-horsed  vehicles 
again  and  again,  the  number  of  his  books  being  in- 
calculable. 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES          129 


And  Boulard !  Boulard,  the  greatest  buyer  of  old 
books  this  century  has  seen ;  Boulard,  the  old  notary 
whose  face  and  memory  are  unforgettable.  He  was  the 
most  thorough-going  of  bibliomaniacs.  He  bought  books 
by  the  metre,  by  the  toise,  by  the  acre  !  He  bought  in 
detail,  in  block,  by  the  basket,  by  the  heap ;  his  drawing- 
room,  his  vestibules,  his  lumber-rooms,  his  stairs,  his 
bedrooms,  his  cupboards  bent  under  the  weight  of  his 
volumes  to  such  an  extent  that  a  witty  bibliophile,  who 
signs  himself  C.-H.-J.,'  produced  on  the  morning  of  his 
•death  a  piece  of  verse  worthy  of  surviving  its  author,  and 
which  we  have  here  : 

'  Feu  Boulard  possedait  au  faubourg  Saint-Germain 
Un  hotel  confortable  et  d'un  produit  honnete, 
Ou'il  laissait  en  mourant  comble  jusques  au  faite 
De  livres  au  hasard  acquis  de  toute  main. 

'  Notre  homme  le  matin  commenqait  sa  tournee 
Et  rapportait  chez  lui,  plusieurs  fois  la  journee, 
Les  produits  de  sa  chasse  empiles  sous  son  bras, 
Dans  ses  poches  expres  faites  pour  cet  usage  ; 
Gouffres  traditionnels  ovi  les  plus  gros  formats, 
Les  massifs  in-quarto  trouveraient  leur  passage. 
Bientot  il  cut  rempli  tout  le  premier  etage 
De  ses  holes  poudreux  :  salle  a  manger,  salons  ; 
Cabinets,  corridors,  regorgeaient  de  rayons  ; 
II  fallut  emigrer  plus  haut  :  le  locataire 
Du  second  eut  conge.     Notre  proprietaire, 
Fut  a  peine  installe  dans  son  nouveau  logis 
Qu'il  e"tait  encombre  de  nouveaux  favoris. 
Pendant  six  mois,  reduit  a  la  portion  congrue 
Maitre  Boulard,  a  moins  de  coucher  dans  la  rue, 
N'avait  pu  lacher  bride  a  son  gout  encombrant ; 
Desormais  possesseur  d'un  vaste  appartement, 
En  homme  qui  s'etait  prive  du  necessaire, 
Plein  d'une  ardeur  nouvelle  il  se  donna  carriere. 
II  nettoya  les  quais,  depouilla  les  auvents, 
Mil  l'e"picier  a  sec.     Bref,  au  bout  de  trois  ans, 
II  fermait  le  second  et  montait  au  troisieme. 


130  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


Rien  ne  troublait  la  paix  de  sa  maison  :  lui-meme 
Du  calme  sanctuaire  hole  silencieux, 
Avec  recueillement  il  adorait  ses  dieux. 
Dans  ce  temple  rempli  et  innombrables  fetiches, 
L'araignde  ourdissait  les  toiles  les  plus  riches  ; 
Les  mites  effrangeaient  les  tentures  ;  les  rats 
Y  mettaient  le  couvert  pour  leurs  quatre  repas. 
Leur  riche  pourvoyeur,  amphitryon  aimable, 
Ne  leur  disputait  pas  les  restes  de  sa  table. 
L'age  n'avait  en  rien  apaise"  ses  ardeurs  ; 
Trente  mille  bouquins  peuplaient  sa  ne'cropole  ; 
S'il  cut  fallu  payer  a  Caron  son  obole, 
II  cut  cede  la  place  a  cet  envahisseur, 
Et  faute  d'un  reduit  a  son  heure  derniere, 
II  cut  enfin  rendu  I'ame  dans  la  gouttiere.' 

The  bibliophile-poet  finishes  his  work  in  the  following- 
exquisite  fashion : 

'  Tel  bijou,  qui  n'etait  chez  Boulard  qu'un  bouquin, 
Aujourd'hui  par  mes  soins,  vetu  de  maroquin, 
Triomphe  au  premier  rang  dans  ma  petite  eglise. 
Pauci  sed  elccti,  telle  est  notre  devise  ; 
Mais  ces  amis  de  choix,  pendant  plus  de  vingt  ans 
Ont  flotte  sur  les  quais,  battu  des  quatre  vents, 
Avant  qu'on  leur  ouvrit  nos  petites  chapelles  ; 
Bien  des  cceurs  etaient  sourds,  bien  des  esprits  rebelles  ! 
L'hero'ique  vieillard,  en  ces  jours  de  langueur, 
De"daignant  noblement  les  critiques  frivoles, 
Ouvrit  son  panthe"on  a  nos  cheres  idoles 
Et  pour  nous  le  sauver  se  fit  conservateur.' 

It  was  not  30,000  volumes  which  Boulard  collected, 
but  300,000.  Nodier  called  him  the  Venerable  Boulard. 
Out  of  curiosity  we  bought  his  catalogue,  which,  although 
printed  in  small  type,  is  immense. 

Boulard  (Antoine-Marie-Henri)  died  at  Paris,  on  the 
6th  of  May,  1825,  aged  seventy-one ;  he  translated  from 
English  several  works  which,  however,  are  given  in 
Querard.  This  bibliomaniac  was  a  scholar.  Thanks  to- 
his  voracious  book-collecting  his  name  will  live  for  ever. 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES         131 

The  big  buyers  by  the  bundle  are  still  frequent  on  the 
quays,  and  the  stall-keepers  delight  in  meeting  with  en- 
thusiasts of  encyclopaedic  passion,  whose  hobby  embraces 
a  whole  category  of  easily  accessible  books. 

It  was  for  some  such  reason  as  this  that  General  Francis 
Pittie,  who  was  at  the  Elysee  under  President  Grevy,  was 
so  unanimously  regretted  by  his  customary  purveyors,  the 
wares  in  which  he  delighted  being  so  rarely  sold  that  no 
one  has  wanted  any  since.  He  bought  indifferently  every- 
thing which  appeared  or  had  appeared  in  French  verse. 
His  library,  which  was  probably  the  most  complete  of  its 
kind,  was  put  up  to  auction  after  his  death.  His  heirs 
got  rid  of  his  books,  but  they  were  not  much  the  richer 
for  doing  so.  Once  again  it  was  manifest  that  poetry, 
alas  !  is  but  unsubstantial  food. 

Among  the  book-hunters  recently  disappeared  we  must 
mention  M.  Chantelauze,  the  bibliographer  of  De  Retz, 
familiarly  known  as  the  Cardinal.  Chantelauze  spent  his 
life  on  the  Paris  quays  in  search  of  the  classics  of  Didot, 
Renouard,  Lefevre,  etc.,  on  large  paper  and  unsoiled. 
There  was  Champfleury,  too,  who  bought  engravings, 
caricatures,  popular  booklets  printed  at  Troyes,  at  Epinal, 
at  Rouen,  at  Lille,  etc.,  and  who  has  left  his  emulators, 
for  several  stall-keepers  now  put  Tiger's  editions,  dirty 
and  dilapidated,  in  the  twenty-sou  box.  Then  there  was 
Feuillet  de  Conches,  who  hunted  chiefly  for  autographs ; 
and  there  was  Michel  Chasles,  who  sought  old  mathe- 
matical books  and  the  works  of  learned  Arabs,  while 
labouring  at  those  famous  autographs  which  had  such 
cruel  deceptions  in  store  for  him — for  which  see  the 
Immortel  of  Daudet. 

Some  years  ago  all  the  stall-keepers  were  greeting  as  a 
model  customer  one  whose  disappearance  was  not  with- 
out causing  trouble  to  a  few  of  them.  This  was  M. 
Captier,  a  rich  merchant,  who  supplied  cloth  to  the  army. 


132 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


Every  day  about  five  o'clock  he  invariably  did  his  biblio- 
graphic round,  glass  in  eye.  His  eclecticism  and  his 
knowledge  of  contemporary  literature  made  him  a  model 
buyer,  and,  alas  !  almost  a  unique  one — as  has  been  seen 

since — for  copies  of  first  editions 
and  the  first  works  of  authors 
in  whom  talent  is  not  quite 
absent.  He  also  bought,  at 
good  prices,  such  manuscripts 
and  autographs  as  luck  had 
thrown  into  the  dealer's  hands. 
He  disappeared  suddenly  after 
the  affair  of  the  Comptoir 
d'Escompte.  It  is  said  that  he 
was  almost  ruined,  and  sold  all 
his  books,  and  out  of  a  heroic 
fear  of  temptation  he  thence- 
forth abandoned  the  quays,  even 
for  taking  a  walk  on  them. 

In  the  first  rank  of  ever-faithful  book-hunters  we  must 
place  Xavier  Marmier.  His  specialty  was  books  in  foreign 
languages,  from  Italian  to  the  languages  of  the  North, 
popular  tales,  and  all  that  we  to-day  know  as  folk-lore. 
And,  besides  collecting  these  books,  he  made  frequent 
and  distant  journeys.  The  only  books  he  did  not  like 
finding  in  the  stall-keeper's  box  were  those  he  bought  with 
most  eagerness  ;  he  knew  from  long  experience  what  num- 
bers of  excellent  books  were  to  be  found  on  the  parapets, 
and  he  could  not  suffer  any  of  his  to  remain  there. 
Ardently  and  continuously  did  he  make  a  clean  sweep  of 
Marmiers,  and  such  were  the  sympathy  and  respect  with 
which  he  was  surrounded  that  no  one  attempted  to  take 
advantage  of  this  vainglorious  but  inoffensive  mania  by 
exaggerating  the  price,  or  by  buying  here  and  there  in 
order  to  sell  to  him  again  the  works  of  the  worthy  book- 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES          133 

hunter,  which  are  by  no  means  rare  in  second-hand 
shops.  Book-hunting  was  for  this  academician  such  a 
serious  function  that  he  wore  a  special  costume  for  the 
purpose ;  he  could  stow  away  bundles  of  books  in  his 
pockets,  which  were  numerous  and  as  deep  as  sacks. 
But  in  no  other  respect  did  he  resemble  the  remarkable 
bibliomaniac  of  the  Vie  de  Bohnne.  Of  perfect  polite- 
ness, in  which  were  revived  the  best  traditions  of  the  old 
regime,  Xavier  Marmier  never  forgot  after  a  bargain  to 
offer  the  stall-keeper  a  cigarette,  or,  if  the  stall-keeper 
were  of  the  feminine  gender,  to 
take  a  sweetmeat-box  from  his 
pocket  and  beg  her  to  accept  a 
chocolate  pastille. 

Anecdotes  abound  regarding 
this  amiable  man  of  letters  ;  a 
respectable  collection  could  be 
made  of  Marmicrana.  Here  are 
one  or  two,  to  stimulate  the 
appetite : 

Not  long  ago  M.  Marmier 
bought  for  two  sous  a  book 
which  seemed  to  interest  him 
greatly ;  to  run  through  it  after 
he  had  bought  it  he  sat  down 
on  the  stall-keeper's  seat,  after 

offering  him  a  smoke.  A  moment  afterwards  he  said  to 
him  :  '  Ah  !  mon  ami,  you  would  not  believe  how  pleased 
I  am ;  I  have  been  looking  for  this  work  for  ten  years  ;' 
and  he  put  a  five-franc  piece  into  the  hand  of  the 
astonished  dealer. 

Another  time  he  had  just  bought  at  a  low  price  a  book 
of  no  importance,  which  he  thought  might  some  day  come 
in  useful,  when  it  came  on  to  rain,  and  he  had  to  take 
shelter  on  the  terrace  of  a  neighbouring  cafe.  He  asked 


134  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

for  a  glass  of  milk,  and  began  to  examine  the  volume. 
In  turning  over  the  leaves  he  came  to  two  stuck  together, 
and  on  separating  them  found  a  hundred-franc  note — 
hidden  there  by  some  bibliophile.  At  this  moment  he 
distinctly  heard  somebody  close  to  him  saying  so  sorrow- 
fully, '  To-morrow  I  have  to  pay  up.  My  wife  and  chil- 
dren will  be  in  the  street.  I  will  sell  the  whole  shop 
to-day.  I  have  only  taken  six  sous,  which  a  gentleman 
with  a  ribbon  gave  me,  and  the  day  is  over  now  the  rain 
has  come.  Good-bye  to  trade,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned !' 
The  '  gentleman  with  a  ribbon  '  Marmier  recognised  as 
himself;  the  man  who  was  groaning  at  the  neighbouring 
table  was  none  other  than  the  stall-keeper  who  had  sold 
him  the  book  in  which  he  had  just  made  such  an  unlikely 
find.  The  academician  rose,  took  the  stall-keeper's  hand, 
and  slipped  into  it  the  hundred-franc  note.  '  Look  here, 
my  friend,'  he  said,  '  you  forgot  what  was  in  the  book 
you  sold  me  just  now.  I  return  it  to  you  !' 

Finally,  in  his  will  he  inserted  a  clause  which  deserves 
to  be  quoted  at  length :  '  In  remembrance  of  the  happy 
moments  I  have  passed  among  the  bookstall-keepers  on 
the  quays  of  the  left  bank — moments  which  I  reckon 
among  the  pleasantest  of  my  life — I  leave  to  these  worthy 
stall-keepers  a  sum  of  1,000  francs.  I  desire  that  this 
amount  shall  be  expended  by  these  good  and  honest 
dealers,  who  number  fifty  or  thereabouts,  in  paying  for 
a  jolly  dinner  and  in  spending  an  hour  in  conviviality  and 
in  thinking  of  me.  This  will  be  my  acknowledgment 
for  the  many  hours  I  have  lived  intellectually  in  my  almost 
daily  walks  on  the  quays  between  the  Pont  Royal  and  the 
Pont  Saint-Michel.' 

It  is  in  this  way  that  memories  are  kept  green.  Before 
he  disappears  entirely  in  the  glorious  mist,  we  may  as  well 
give  a  sketch  of  him  as  he  lived.  A  man  of  letters, 
the  son  of  a  bookseller,  and  now  a  book-hunter,  has  done 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES          135 

this  with  a  delicacy  and  spirit  which  discourage  us  from 
attempting  it  again. 

*  M.  Marmier,'  he*  says,  '  showed  in  his  passion  for  books 
the  modesty  and  discretion  which  were  natural  to  him.  I 
do  not  think  that  he  had  ever  suffered  from  the  slenderness 
of  his  fortune,  which  prevented  him  from  competing  with 
the  pompous  bibliophiles  of  the  financial  world  for  rare 
editions  and  historic  bindings.  The  conversation  of  an 
obscure  book,  despised  and  badly  clothed,  but  clever  or 
learned,  was  good  enough  for  him.  His  library  seemed 
made  in  his  own  image.  It  was,  if  I  am  right  in  my 
opinion,  an  honest,  good-humoured  Babel,  in  which,  in  all 
the  languages  of  the  world,  there  was  no  talk  but  of  sweet 
poetry  and  popular  tales  and  the  varied  manners  and 
customs  of  men.  A  book-lover  now  forgotten,  but  whom 
M.  Marmier  knew  well,  M.  de  Labedoyere,  was  annoyed 
by  someone  stating  in  a  newspaper  that  he  practised  the 
art  of  "capping"  his  books.  By  this  is  understood  the 
placing  of  a  little  paper  cap  on  the  upper  edge  of  each 
volume,  which  is  certainly  a  very  innocent  precaution. 
M.  de  Labedoyere  was  in  error  in  supposing  that  there 
was  any  intention  to  injure  him.  I  well  know  that  I  am 
not  injuring  the  memory  of  M.  Marmier  in  saying  that  he 
practised  remboitage^  When  he  found  a  book  richly  bound 
and  quite  unworthy  of  its  beautiful  garb,  he  bought  it  to 
strip  and  use  its  morocco  cover  for  some  more  estimable 
work  less  favoured  by  fortune.  Doubtless  the  coat  did  not 
always  exactly  fit  its  new  possessor,  but  the  unkindnesses 
of  fate  were  as  much  as  possible  atoned  for,  and  the  act  was 
that  of  a  learned  man  and  a  just  one.  I  recognised  on  his 
shelves  several  of  these  Bernard  the  Hermits  of  the  book- 
world.  They  looked  by  no  means  bad  in  their  borrowed 
plumes,  and  the  town  of  Pontarlier,  to  which  M.  Marmier 
bequeathed  his  library,  may  well  be  proud  of  the  filial  gift. 
*  Anatole  France. 


136 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


Many  a  time  have  I  met  him  on  the  quays  bending  over 
the  book-boxes,  keen-sighted  still,  and  it  was  always  a 
happy  meeting  with  the  old  man,  who  in  features  resembled 
Merimee,  with  more  gentleness,  and  who  never  spoke  but 
cleverly  and  kindly.' 

The   writer  who  signed  these  lines  Anatole  Thibaud, 
known  under  the  name  of  Anatole  France,  is  himself  by 
birth  and  taste  a  very  dainty  book- 
lover,  who  thoroughly  knows  his  Paris 
quays.     He   was   born  among   books 
and    passed    his    child- 
hood among  them ;  and 
that    is    why   he    sym- 
pathizes    more     keenly 
than  anybody  with  their 
owners.     There  it  was 
he  learnt  to  love  litera- 
ture,   however    humble 
and    obscure ;    and,   in 

his  father's  name,  he  was  able  to  claim  a  place  at  this 
banquet,  in  which  a  book-hunter  invited  the  booksellers 
to  hold  high  festival. 

What  has  become  of  M.  Fontaine,  advocate  and  hunter 
of  books  ?  He  belonged  to  the  same  generation  as  Xavier 
Marmier,  and  if  he  ever  pleaded  it  was  in  1830,  or  there- 
abouts. He  had  retained  the  costume  of  that  romantic 
epoch,  and  also  the  fine  ardour  of  discussion,  and  the 
noble  faculty  of  becoming  violently  impassioned  and  en- 
thusiastic which  makes  our  present  sceptics  smile.  He 
chiefly  collected  old  editions  of  the  French  classics.  Of 
Boileau  alone  he  possessed  sixty  editions.  A  man  enviable 
among  all,  for  he  had  known  how,  simply  and  practically, 
to  shape  and  limit  his  happiness. 

It  is  not  given  to  everybody  to  rejoice  in  this  calm  of 
possession.  There  are  some  like  the  Comte  de  Toustain, 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES 


137 


for  whom  every  book  purchased  loses  its  charm,  and 
who  spend  their  lives  in  selling  back  to  one  bookstall-man 
that  which  they  bought  from  another,  or  in  making  com- 
plicated exchanges  with  which  they  are  never  contented. 
This  kind  of  hunter  is  a  treasure  to  the  book-dealers,  for 
every  transaction  with  him  ends  to  their  profit. 

What  different  tastes  there  are  in  this  one  pursuit  of 
printed  paper  !  M.  Mouton-Duvernet 
only  collects  pamphlets  of  the 
eighteenth  century ;  but  he  does  not 
care  for  them  on  one  page — three  or 
four  enchant  him,  eight  pages  wring 
a  weary  gesture  from  him,  and  when 
he  meets  with  16  pp.  8vo.,  he  heaves 
a  sigh  and  only  with  an  effort  per- 
suades himself  to  buy. 

Another,  an  old  municipal  coun- 
cillor, M.  Delzant,  is  in  his  way  a 
seeker  after  the  philosopher's  stone 
and  abstractor  of  the  quintessence. 
He  buys  everything  in  prose  and 
verse  on  the  subject  of  happiness.  When  he  has  bought 
everything,  this  mystery,  against  which  M.  Sully-Prud- 
homme  and  so  many  others  have  jostled,  should  evidently 
have  nothing  to  hide  from  him.  But  he  has  not  bought 
all,  and  from  the  ardour  he  puts  into  it,  it  would  seem  as 
though  the  pursuit  would  last  for  some  time.  Meanwhile 
he  bargains  strenuously,  and  when  he  has  obtained  a 
deduction  of  live  or  ten  sous  he  feels  a  foretaste  of  that 
absolute  bliss  of  which  he  is  seeking  the  definition. 

A  bachelor — we  do  not  know  whom  he  took  into  his 
confidence,  but  everybody  on  the  quays  knows  him  as  the 
'  vieux  gargon  ' — always  looking  as  if  he  had  stepped  out 
of  a  band-box,  and  wearing  a  high  hat  with  a  wide  brim, 
the  mark  of  an  independent  spirit  in  science  or  in  the  arts 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


— never  asks  the  price  of  a  volume  until  he  has  carefully 
run  through  it  to  see  that  it  is  complete.  And  when  he  calls 
the  dealer,  he  never  fails  to  say  to  him  at  the  outset  : 
*  Such  and  such  a  leaf  is  turned  up,  you  know,  and  there  is 

a  tear  on  another  page,  a  stain 
on  another,  a  trace  of  mildew 
on  the  margins;'  and  he  fancies 
that  in  that  way  he  will  get 
the  book  at  a  lower  price.  It 
is  not  a  bad  calculation  ;  the 
dealer,  generally  honest  and 
imperfectly  acquainted  with 
the  state  of  each  of  his  books, 
is  rather  shaken  by  these 
criticisms,  which  are  as  pre- 
cise as  they  are  sincere,  and 
generally  gives  in  with  a  view 
to  further  business. 
Here  we  have  the  miserable  cure,  sordid  in  feature, 
beard  unshaven  for  a  week,  cassock  frayed  and  turning 
rusty,  stockings  dirty,  shoes  down  at  heel.  Every  day 
he  passes  along  the  parapet,  collecting  pamphlets  and 
volumes  of  theology  and  religious  polemics,  of  which  the 
dearest  only  cost  him  a  few  sous.  It  happens  that  in  his 
desire  to  get  rid  of  unsaleable  things  the  dealer  offers  him 
such  clerical  opuscula  as  Miracles  de  la  Salette,  Apparition 
de  Notre  Dame  de  Lourdes,  lucubrations  of  M.  Henri 
Lasserre  or  Monsignor  de  Segur.  When  that  occurs 
nothing  can  be  more  peculiar  than  his  smile.  '  It  is  mere 
bigotry,'  he  murmurs,  *  it  cannot  be  taken  seriously  ;'  and 
he  throws  down  the  book  with  a  vehement  gesture  of  im- 
patience and  scorn. 

M.  du  Desert  collects  books  of  broad  humour  and  songs, 
with  or  without  music.  He  is  one  of  the  old  school,  and 
is  not  afraid  of  buying  an  ugly  or  imperfect  copy  of  a 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES 


139 


book  he  wants.  He  will  replace  it  if,  some  day,  he  comes 
across  a  better  find — for  he  is  one  of  those  who  ever  make 
the  best  of  things.  He  has  many  competitors.  Where  is 
the  book-lover  who  has  not  been  on  the  alert  and  the 
covet  before  a  breezy  story  of  the  eighteenth  century,  or  a 
prim  and  proper  song-book  with  wide  margins  ?  Going 
not  beyond  his  specialty,  he  does  wisely  in  gathering  all 
that  comes  to  him,  for,  with  a  little  patience  and  trouble, 
he  is  sure  to  get  a  good  copy  after  two  or  three  bad  ones. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  collectors  of  almanacs,  literary 
miscellanies,  books  of  beauty,  and  keepsakes.  Copies 
well-bound  and  in  good  condition  of  these  kinds  of  books 
attain  high  prices, 
and  are  rarely 
found  but  in  shops 
with  a  circle  of 
\vealthy  cus- 
tomers. But  a 
goodly  number  of 
them  of  humble 
and  unpretending 
aspect  stray  on  to 
the  quays.  There 
the  knowing  book- 
hunter  seeks  them, 

accumulating  his  duplicates,  completing  and  improving 
unceasingly  and  gradually  acquiring  unbroken  sets,  inter- 
esting for  their  continuity  and  their  generally  handsome 
appearance.  I  know  well  that  this  proceeding  is  not 
unknown  to  M.  de  Spoelberg  de  Lovenjoul,  and  that  he 
has  more  than  once  adopted  it  in  Paris,  Brussels,  and 
other  places  to  complete  a  series  of  this  kind  of  literature. 

Who  would  imagine  the  peculiar  hobby  of  Gustave 
Droz,  the  celebrated  and  charming  author  of  Monsieur, 
Madame,  et  Bebe,  who  lives  on  the  Quai  Voltaire  ?  The 


140 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


story  of  the  Jacques  de  Molay  affair  makes  his  heart  beat 
high  ;  no  romance  affected  him  like  Ivanhoe  ;  and  he  can 
but  just  pardon  Philippe  le  Bel,  because  '  without  his 
funereal  piles  literature  would  be  infinitely  poorer  in  works 
on  the  Knights  of  the  Temple.'  Let  him  take  notice  that 
he  has  rivals  in  England,  and  that  certain  booksellers  of 
the  United  Kingdom  never  issue  a  catalogue  without 
several  entries  under  the  heading  Templars. 

Every  day  between  one  o'clock  and  two,  a  high  func- 
tionary in  the  finance  department,  M.  Humbert,  takes  a 
stroll  on  the  quays,  from  which  he  rarely  returns  empty. 
His  field  is  fertile,  in  fact,  and  one  of  those  in  which  at 
all  seasons  it  is  easy  to  glean.  He  buys  indiscriminately 
all  that  concerns  Paris — books,  prints,  music,  newspapers, 
songs,  biographies,  portraits,  etc.  This  emulator  of  our 
friend  Paul  Lacombe  has  published  a  very  remarkable 
Bibliographic  Parisienne.  His  daily  acquisitions  have 
shown  him  how  impossible  it  is  for  him  to  complete  such 
a  task.  His  collection,  which  increases  continually,  de- 
serves a  better  fate  than  that  of  so  many  superb  libraries 

on  Paris  which  have  been 
dispersed  under  the  ham- 
mer like  a  dry  cinder  in  the 
wind.  Its  proper  place  is 
at  the  Hotel  Carnavalet,  a 
cenotaph  really  worthy  of  it. 
The  disquieting  author 
of  A  rebours  and  La-bas, 
M.  J.-K.  Huysmans,  is  an 
—  assiduous  book  -  hunter. 
We  can  hardly  wonder  at 
his  more  especially  collect- 
ing works  on  mysticism 
and  occultism,  books  of  sorcery,  the  rules  of  the  religious 
orders,  monographs  on  bells,  and  sacred  music.  Another 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES          141 

writer,  M.  Henri  Ceard,  pries  into  the  portfolios  of  en- 
gravings in  search  of  Parisian  scenes  or  portraits  of 
Zola,  which  have  escaped  his  attention  at  the  moment 
of  their  appearance.  His  collection  of  iconographic 
curiosities  is  not,  however,  entirely  confined  to  this 
author,  and  other  contemporaries  come  in  for  notice ;  but 
a  series  of  Zolas  ought  to  be  worth  looking  at,  owing 
to  the  numerous  modifications  and  avatars  of  the  same 
subject. 

Among  the  modern  book-hunters  we  might  men- 
tion all  literary  Paris  —  Claretie  returning  from  the 
Academic,  and  Georges  Monval  on  his  way  to  the 
Theatre-Francais ;  Maurice  Tourneux,  the  bibliographer 
of  the  Revolution  ;  then  the  worthy  philosophical  poet, 
Raoul  Ponchon,  who,  as  an  accomplished  bibliophile, 
knows  the  boxes  in  the  best  corners,  and  delights  in 
drinking  the  air  and  sunlight  as  he  pries  along  the 
parapets  ;  Bouchor  occasionally  takes  to  book-hunting, 
but  without  real  conviction  ;  De  Goncourt  now  and  then 
rummages  in  the  boxes  in  search  of  some  unexpected 
document.  Then  there  are  Coppee,  Pailleron,  Sully- 
Prudhomme. — But  if  we  attempt  to  give  the  names  of  all 
those  who  go  book-hunting  among  the  men  of  letters 
— the  doctors,  the  artists,  painters,  sculptors,  or  actors — 
we  shall  have  to  include  quite  a  quarter  of  those  whose 
names  are  inscribed  on  the  Bottin  of  celebrity.  We  are 
continually  being  astonished  at  hearing  of  some  instance 
of  the  book-hunting  passion  in  cases  where  there  is  nothing 
to  indicate  a  tendency  that  way.  One  thing  is  clear 
enough :  '  There  are  many  more  famous  book-hunters 
than  there  are  boxes  on  the  quays.' 

In  the  search  after  caricatures  a  successor  to  Champ- 
fleury  has  arisen  in  M.  John  Grand-Carteret.  The  notes 
that  some  of  the  stall-keepers  have  given  us  concerning 
him  are  not  much  in  his  favour.  His  bitterness  in 


142 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


bargaining  and  the  abruptness  of  his  speech  have  not 
apparently  made  him  very  popular  on  the  quays.  He 
none  the  less  continues  to  collect  with  interest,  avoiding, 

if  he  chooses,  the  dealers  over 
whom  he  has  triumphed. 

Our  advice  to  all  good  stall- 
keepers  is  not  to  neglect  to  put 
in  a  prominent  position  the  big 
Latin  editions  in  fine  bold  type, 
well  framed  in  wide  margins 
on  good  paper,  particularly 
those  of  the  Italian  Boldoni, 
the  Englishman  Baskerville,  or 
the  Frenchman,  Pierre  Didot. 
These  are  not  books  in  the 
fashion,  it  is  true  ;  but  the  poet, 
Jean  Richepin,  and  several 
others  delight  in  them,  and  from  time  to  time  he  comes 
to  try  his  fortune  on  that  left  bank  he  has  never  ceased 
to  love.  That  the  book  is  damaged  externally  does  not 
matter  to  him.  What  he  cares  for  is  the  state  of  the 
text ;  he  knows  how  the  noble  and  excellent  may  be 
hidden  under  the  rags  of  the  beggar  and  the  tatters  of 
destiny. 

To  this  review,  which  is  already  lengthy,  and  which 
cannot  be  complete  because  in  its  renewal  and  develop- 
ment it  is  naturally  interminable,  we  will  add  a  worthy 
doctor  of  Passy,  Doctor  Nicolas,  more  curious  to  unearth 
along  the  quays  old  plates  of  anatomy  and  misery,  and  to 
examine  old  editions  of  Boerhaave,  Mead,  Joubert,  and 
Alexis  Piemontois  than  to  visit  the  sick  and  enlarge  his 
practice.  What  admirable  prudence  ! 

As  he  was  a  Norman,  and  had  not  lost  his  taste  for 
cider  and  apple-trees,  he  left  Paris  last  summer,  taking 
away  with  his  boxes  of  prints  and  books  the  regrets  of 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES         143 

the  few  patients  who  had  been  attended  by  this  wise 
man,  who  was  both  frank  and  learned,  and  who  did  not 
believe  in  medicine  and  had  no  hesitation  in  saying  so. 

By  the  side  of  the  amateur  there  marches  the  pro- 
fessional, the  bookseller  or  '  chineur.'  On  his  account  the 
trade  on  the  quays  would  be  prosperous  if  purchases  were 
more  easy  and  more  numerous.  The  bookseller  is  gene- 
rally a  specialist.  He  may  buy  only  books  on  the  theatre 
and  of  romantic  literature,  like  M.  Leon  Sapin  of  the  Rue 
Bonaparte,  who  also  buys  autographs  and  show-bills. 
He  may  buy  law  books,  like  the  booksellers  from  the 
Quartier  de  la  Sorbonne,  who  take  their  turn  on  Sunday. 
Others  buy  classics,  like  M.  Gibert,  or  even  books  of 
piety,  like  MM.  Bache  and  Tralin  or  M.  Estoup.  Not 
so  very  long  ago  M.  Dorbon,  of  the  Rue  de  Seine,  did  his 
daily  round,  accompanied  by  Madame  Dorbon,  and 
secured  everything  that  might  be  of  a  little  value  in  a 
catalogue.  His  wife's  death  put  an  end  to  his  excursions 
on  the  quays,  which  were  so  appreciated  by  the  stall- 
keepers. 

The  '  chineurs,'  whose  trade  consists  in  gathering  out 
of  the  boxes  everything  saleable  to  a  bookseller  on  which 
a  profit  can  be  made,  do  not  often  restrict  themselves  to 
one  line  ;  they  take  everything — literature,  law,  medicine, 
natural  history,  and  the  rest. 

These  '  chineurs  '  were  formerly,  and  perhaps  are  still, 
three  in  number.  The  most  curious  of  them  is  Guffroy. 
For  five-and-twenty  years  he  has  been  exploring  the  quays ; 
a  lucrative  exploration  which  yields  him  an  agreeable 
existence.  No  one  can  scent  a  rare  book  or  one  out  of 
print  more  keenly  than  he  can  ;  he  is  up  to  date  in  all 
branches  of  bibliography,  including  the  most  recent  pro- 
ductions of  modern  literature.  He  knows  all  the  book- 
sellers who  really  mean  business,  and  who  appreciate 
the  services  he  renders  them  by  centralizing  to  their 


144 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


advantage  everything  that  would  escape  them.     And  he 
always  gets  the  best  prices  for  his  discoveries. 

M.  Philippeaux,  who  was  formerly  a  bookseller,  is  in 
the  same  line  of  business.  An  excellent  connoisseur  of 
romantic  works  and  '  curious '  books,  he  is  far  from  the 
equal  of  Guffroy  in  the  universality  of  his  bibliographic 
knowledge. 

The  third  man  is  Morel.  He  is  an  old  stall-keeper 
from  the  Quay  Conti,  whose  specialty  is  law  and  medicine. 
With  a  prudence  inspired,  so  say  the  stall-keepers,  by 
avarice,  he  would  often  rather  lose  the 
chance  of  a  profit  of  several  francs  than 
pay  for  a  book  a  few  centimes  more  than 
he  offers.  He  is  known  all  along  the  quays 
as  Chipoteaii.  The  stall-keepers 
are  unanimous  in  declaring  that 
the  nickname  is  due  to  his 
outrageous  ways  of  trading  and 
his  meanness  in  business. 
He  himself  gives  an  explanation 
that  is  more  amusing,  if  not  more 
true.  Chipoteau  is  merely  a  corrup- 
tion of  Chapoteau,  the  name  of  a 
dealer  in  bric-a-brac  who  died  a  few 
years  ago.  He  was  a  frequenter  of 
the  sale-room,  where  his  ugly  face  and  Auvergnat  ways 
were  well  known.  One  day,  as  Morel  was  at  a  sale  at 
which  the  auctioneer  had  some  trouble  in  obtaining 
silence,  the  facetious  '  chineur '  provoked  a  renewal  of  the 
uproar  by  climbing  on  to  a  cupboard.  The  auctioneer, 
who  did  not  know  of  the  death  of  the  bric-a-brac  dealer, 
and  did  not  suppose  that  a  man  so  ugly  could  have  a 
twin,  sharply  rebuked  the  disturber.  '  Monsieur  Chapo- 
teau,' he  shouted,  '  I  will  have  you  put  out!'  The  mistake 
appeared  so  natural  and  so  droll  that  henceforth  every- 


BOOK-HUNTERS  AND  BOOK-HUNTRESSES          145 

body  called  Morel  Chapoteau,  which  in  the  usual  way  of 
nicknames  became  corrupted  into  Chipoteau.  It  is  thus 
that  symbols  come. 

Here  we  must  close  this  chapter  on  the  book-hunters, 
which  we  cannot  pretend  to  be  complete.  We  have 
written  it  without  concerning  ourselves  overmuch  with 
what  our  predecessors,  like  Jules  Janin,  Nodier,  P.  Lacroix 
(Jacob),  have  so  amusingly  written  on  a  subject  as  vast 
as  no  other  human  passion,  and  perhaps  richer  than  any 
in  picturesque  anecdote.  The  books  on  special  subjects 
which  follow  similar  books  are  only  useful  in  offering  fresh 
notes  or  original  views.  In  this  mono- 
graph of  the  Paris  quays  our  en- 
deavour is  to  gossip  to  our  best 
ability  on  familiar  matters, 
but  we  are  conscious  of 
omitting  many  book-hunters 
of  the  humbler  sort,  such 
as  the  cab-drivers  on  the 
neighbouring  stand,  in  every 
one  of  whom  the  taste  for 
old  books  prospers  by  con- 
tagion, so  to  speak,  or  even 
many  old  midwives  gifted 
with  a  similar  appreciation. 

But  he  who  knows  not  when  to  stop  knows  not  the  art 
of  writing.  Let  us  pass  on  to  the  kleptomaniac  book- 
hunters,  otherwise  the  book-stealers.  Meanwhile,  we  will 
conclude  with  an  excellent  description  of  the  book-hunter's 
delights. 

'  You  must  experience,'  says  a  book-lover,  'the  pleasure 
of  book-hunting  to  know  it,  to  give  it  its  due  as  a  bene- 
ficent and  consoling  genius.  If  this  pleasure  is  not  more 
sweet  and  faithful  than  the  rest,  it  is  richer  in  varied 
emotions,  more  welcome  to  gentle  and  pensive  organiza- 

10 


146 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


tions,  more  real,  more  true,  more  material ;  we  see  young 
men  giving  themselves  over  to  it  with  enthusiasm,  men  of 
talent  and  wit  taking  never-ending  pleasure  in  it,  the  rich 
and  the  powerful  delighting  in  it  in  preference  to  all  the 
playthings  of  power  and  all  the  baubles  of  wealth  ! 

'  We  see  sybarites,  slaves  of  their  senses  and  external 
impressions,  leaving  their  fireside  in  winter  and  the  cool 
shelter  of  their  lime-trees  in  summer,  to  brave  the  heat 
and  cold,  the  breeze  and  fog,  the  nauseous  odours  of  the 
old  books,  and  rest  their  eyes  on  pages  filthy,  smoky, 
stinking  of  tobacco,  pestilential.' 

Was  he  not  right,  this  dear  Paul  Lacroix,  when  he 
wrote  :  '  If  I  were  asked  who  is  the  happiest  man,  I  would 
reply  :  A  book-lover,  supposing  that  he  is  a  man.  Whence 
it  results  that  happiness  is  an  old  book !' 


THE    BOOK-STEALERS. 

NOTES   AND    OBSERVATIONS. 

OWADAYS  progress  is  commendable,  or 
\\e  may  even  say  enviable,  for  we  have  no 
wish  to  be  considered  reactionary ;  but 
that  progress  is  always  advantageous  we 
are  not  prepared  to  admit.  There  must 
always  be  a  slight  allowance  for  waste,  and 
in  most  cases  this  waste  must  be  enormous. 

Thus  it  was  that  we  rejoiced  with  all  the  stall-keepers 
of  the  quays  at  the  permission  they  obtained  to  fix  their 
stalls  permanently  on  the  parapets.  But  this  advan- 
tage, like  every  other,  is  not  without  its  inconveniences. 
It  happens  that  during  the  night  boxes  are  forced  open, 
and  their  contents  carried  off  by  the  burglars,  who  no 
more  respect  the  abode  of  the  old  books  than  they  do  a 


U8  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

kitchenmaid's  room.  They  have  rifled  the  newspaper 
kiosks,  the  cobblers'  stalls,  the  New  Year's  Day  booths, 
the  church  poor-boxes,  the  costermongers'  barrows,  the 
automatic  machines,  the  street -boxes  in  which  the 
scavengers  keep  their  tools,  and  it  would  be  a  wonder  if 
the  book-boxes  were  respected  or  neglected  by  these 
Parisian  pirates. 

The  dealers,  who  are  men  of  good  sense  and  philo- 
sophers by  nature,  are  aware  of  the  risk  they  run  in 
leaving  their  goods  on  the  quays.  But  they  are  not 
unduly  uneasy,  being  content  to  line  their  boxes  well,  to 
fasten  them  down  to  solid  iron  bars,  to  secure  them  with 
heavy  padlocks,  and  for  the  rest  to  trust  in  Providence 
and  the  vigilance  of  the  police. 

'  The  injury  these  thefts  cause  us,'  said  one  of  them, 
'  cannot  be  very  great.  The  boxes  are  broken  into  very 
seldom,  and  then  on  a  darker  night  than  usual,  or  during 
a  few  moments  when  they  are  left  unwatched,  such  as 
when  an  accident  or  a  crime  occurs  in  the  neighbourhood, 
and  calls  off  the  attention  of  the  guardians  of  the  peace. 
The  thieves  have  not  time  to  visit  many  of  the  boxes  ; 
they  dare  not  take  many  books  at  a  time,  for  fear  of  being 
stopped  at  the  first  corner  of  the  street ;  unless  the  honest 
god,  Mercury,  guide  their  hand,  they  have  twenty  times 
less  chances  of  breaking  into  a  box  of  books  at  two  or 
three  francs  than  into  one  with  books  at  ten  or  fifteen 
sous,  or  even  less.  Thus  it  is  that  these  thefts,  while 
annoying  to  the  dealer  who  is  the  victim,  are  but  a 
trifle  to  the  stall-keepers  in  general,  who  are  amply  com- 
pensated for  them  by  the  diminution  of  the  expenses  and 
labour  due  to  the  establishment  of  these  fixed  stalls 
And  it  may  be  added  that,  as  a  general  rule,  the  thieves 
clear  off  with  goods  of  little  value,  and  that,  consider- 
ing the  trouble  they  take  and  the  risks  they  run,  they  may 
well  think  they  have  themselves  been  robbed.' 


THE  BOOK-STEALERS  149 

'  I  am  quite  convinced,'  said  one  stall-keeper,  not  with- 
out humour,  '  that  it  is  a  game  that  is  never  tried  twice. 
It  is  difficult,  it  is  dangerous,  and  it  never  pays  the 
Turpin  who  attempts  it.' 

In  short,  the  burglar  has  no  more  interest  in  breaking 
into  the  boxes  of  the  stall-keepers  than  they  have  in  being 
friends  with  him  ;  and  as  opportunities  are  not  wanting 
for  him  to  amuse  himself  with  more  honour — everything 
is  relative — and  profit,  he  generally  despises  this  very 
tame  sport. 

It  is  with  other  enemies  less  alarming  but  more  for- 
midable that  the  stall-keepers  have  to  do.  These  work 
in  broad  day,  amid  the  noise  and  crowd  of  the  passers- 
by.  Common  thieves,  who  lift  a  book  as  their  brethren 
lift  a  handkerchief  or  a  watch,  are,  by  the  frequency  of 
their  depredations  and  the  difficulty  of  suppressing  them, 
more  injurious  to  the  merchants  of  the  parapet  than  all 
the  bandits  of  American  racecourses  and  other  well- 
haunted  places.  It  is  during  the  day  that  you  should 
keep  your  eyes  open  ;  in  proclaiming  this,  logic,  prudence, 
and  the  physiognomy  are  agreed.  But  the  stall-keepers 
are  often  humorists,  and  such  of  them  as  would  at  the 
least  suspicion  come  during  the  night  and  take  their  turn 
with  a  cudgel  under  their  arm  and  a  revolver  in  their 
pocket,  consider  a  daily  watch  as  a  superfluity  bordering 
on  the  absurd,  for  surely  when  you  watch  it  is  during  the 
night ;  but  during  the  day,  what  is  the  use  of  it  ? 

And  so  they  give  the  thieves  a  chance.  Some — a  few, 
we  admit,  but  enough  to  make  their  absence  remarkable — 
spend  three-parts  of  the  day  at  the  wine-shop  more  or 
less  opposite,  making  an  occasional  rapid  appearance 
before  their  boxes  between  a  couple  of  turns  at  the  bar ; 
others,  lounging  on  a  bench  or  straddling  on  a  chair, 
turn  their  back  to  their  stall,  and  resting  their  chin  on 
their  chest,  rejoice  in  wealth  and  happiness  to  the 


150 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


fullest  extent,  though  the  wealth  and  happiness  that  come 
when  we  sleep  generally  vanish  at  the  first  awakening. 

Others  have  an  unfortunate  passion  for  reading,  and 
become  so  absorbed  as  to  see  nothing  and  hear  nothing 
of  what  passes  around  them.  I  say  nothing  of  the 
scandal-mongers,  who,  rather  than  lose  an  argument  or 
interrupt  a  good  story,  would  let  everything  go  to  ruin. 
Besides,  the  most  vigilant  have  their  moments  of  distrac- 


tion and  forgetfulness,and  the  prowler, 
x  ^  qucerens  librum  quern  devoret,  is  quick 

to  profit  by  them.  These  last  victims 
get  the  most  sympathy,  for  they  are  more  sensitive  to 
injury.  Nothing  is  more  heartbreaking  than  to  be 
swindled  when  one  is  on  one's  guard.  But  the  thief 
careth  not ;  on  the  contrary,  it  affords  him  the  excite- 
ment of  difficulty  vanquished  and  danger  braved. 

'  If  I  had  to  depict  the  animal  they  call  the  Idler, 
exclaims  Thomas  Nash,  '  I  swear  by  St.  John  the 
Evangelist  that  I  would  represent  him  with  the  features 
of  a  bookseller  I  know,  who  sticks  his  thumb  under  his 
belt,  and  whenever  anyone  comes  to  his  stall  to  ask  for  a 
volume,  moves  not  his  head  nor  even  looks  at  his  cus- 
tomer, but  remains  like  a  stone,  without  saying  a  word, 


THE  BOOK-STEALERS  151 

and  contents  himself  with  indicating  with  his  little  finger 
behind  him  the  boy  who  is  the  interpreter  of  his  silence 
and  indolence  ;  and  thus  it  is  all  day  with  him  :  yawning 
silently  like  an  image,  he  remains  without  movement 
except  at  meal-times,  when  he  becomes  active  enough 
for  three  men,  for  he  eats  six  times  a  day.'* 

Know  you  not  one  or  more  living  oddities  worthy  of 
being  classed  with  this  portrait  of  an  English  bookseller 
at  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century  ?  What  a  triumph 
for  the  partisans  of  reincarnation  ! 

It  has  happened  to  us  more  than  once  to  have  to  leave 
at  a  stall  a  book  we  very  much  wanted  because,  in  spite 
of  all  our  gestures  and  our  appeals,  no  one  has  come  for- 
ward to  tell  us  the  price  or  take  the  money.  On  other 
occasions,  after  having  shouted  for  the  dealer  in  vain, 
our  desire  has  been  stronger  than  our  scruples,  and  we 
have  then  and  there  taken  the  book,  leaving  in  its  place 
the  few  sous  that  the  ticket  on  the  box  showed  to  be  its 
price. 

Under  these  conditions  robbery  is  really  too  easy,  and 
the  negligence  of  the  dealers  is  not  only  fatal  to  their 
interests,  but  corrupting  to  weak  consciences  and  sickly 
morals. 

Here  is  an  amateur,  a  well-dressed  gentleman,  who 
buys  now  and  then,  and  who  arrives  with  two  or  three 
volumes  under  his  arm.  He  stops  before  a  stall,  places 
his  little  pile  of  books  on  the  corner  of  a  box,  handles  and 
examines  minutely  a  lot  of  books,  decides  upon  none, 
picks  up  his  volumes,  and  takes  himself  off.  But  at  the 
same  time  he  has  taken  away  the  most  interesting  book 
in  the  box,  which  he  was  careful  to  slip  among  his  own. 
What  can  the  dealer  do  ?  He  has  suspected  him  for  a 
long  time,  and  he  hopes  that  some  day  he  will  catch  him 
in  the  act.  But  the  gentleman  is  too  wary.  He  waits 
*  Thomas  Nash  :  Pierce  Penilesse,  1592. 


153 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


until  the  stall-keeper's  attention  is  called  off  by  another 
customer,  or  by  a  colleague  in  quest  of  change,  or  of 
a  light,  or  of  a  pipe  of  tobacco,  and  he  makes  sure  of  his 
game.  Run  after  him  when  he  is  a  good  way  off,  and 

make  him  account  for  the  books 
he  is  carrying  ?  That  would  be 
rather  risky,  and  if  a  mistake 
were  made  might  end  in  the 
confusion  of  the  bookstall  man. 
And  if  there  were  hardly  a 
doubt,  could  not  the  rascal 
argue  that  one  book  unpaid  for 
among  two  or  three  others  was 
a  mistake,  an  inadvertence  ? 
The  book  had  slipped  among 
his  own  without  his  knowing 
how ;  he  thought  he  put  it 
back  in  the  box,  and  if  it  got 
under  his  arm  it  was  quite  by 

chance,  and  not  by  intention  !  And  how  could  you  prove 
it  to  be  otherwise  ? 

This  gentleman  dodger  is  one  of  the  most  mischievous 
and  unseizable  enemies  of  the  book-dealer,  on  whom  he 
levies  a  toll  which  is  all  the  more  onerous  from  its  being 
of  almost  daily  occurrence. 

So  it  is  with  the  man  who  hangs  about  the  stalls  and 
fidgets  about,  reading  one  volume  while  he  slily  slips  an- 
other under  his  vast  overcoat — the  volume  disappearing, 
or  rather  being  swallowed  up,  with  nothing  to  betray  its 
presence. 

A  newspaper  folded  in  four  is  almost  as  useful  an 
auxiliary  for  book-stealing  as  a  cloak  with  heavy  folds 
and  deep  pockets,  and  it  is  also  less  suspicious.  The 
amateur  in  search  of  books  at  sight  holds  his  newspaper 
carelessly  in  his  left  hand  ;  he  approaches  a  box,  picks  up 


THE  BOOK-STEALERS  153 

a  book — a  duodecimo  for  choice — opens  it,  reads  a  page, 
two  pages,  twenty  pages  ;  one  is  tempted  to  offer  him  a 
chair.  But  it  is  not  to  his  reading  that  he  is  so  attentive. 
He  never  loses  sight  of  the  stall-keeper,  and  as  soon  as  his 
back  is  turned,  or  his  attention  called  away,  the  book  is 
shut,  and  inserted  within  the  fold  of  the  journal,  which 
the  thief  slips  under  his  arm  as  he  strolls  off  peaceful  and 
satisfied.  Who  would  imagine  that  a  man  who  carries 
under  his  armpit  a  newspaper  folded  in  four  has  walked 
off  with  a  book  he  has  not  paid  for  ?  That  is  what  contem- 
porary journalism  ends  in  !  There  is  an  entirely  novel 
consideration,  which  we  offer  gratuitously  to  legislators  in 
quest  of  arguments  for  '  muzzling  the  press.' 

Artists  of  this  sort  vary  their  methods  of  procedure,  and 
occasionally  the  celebrated  phrase,  Vcz  soli,  works  both 
ways.  One  of  them,  looking  strange  and  uneasy,  and 
glancing  to  the  right  and  left,  and  turning  his  head  from 
side  to  side  like  a  wild  beast  pursued,  who  has  just  dis- 
tanced his  hunters  and  stops  to  breathe  for  a  moment, 
halts  before  a  stall,  seizes  a  book,  and  handles  it  feverishly. 
'  Ah  !  ah  !'  says  the  dealer,  '  that  is  a  thief.  Wait  a  bit, 
my  boy  ;  I  will  show  you  who  I  am  !'  The  fellow  waits 
until,  at  the  other  end  of  the  line  of  boxes,  he  has  seen  an 
accomplice  pick  up  a  book,  put  it  in  his  pocket  and  walk 
off  with  it.  Then  he  replaces  his  volume  and  moves  tran- 
quilly away  with  his  hands  behind  him.  The  dealer  is 
only  half  mistaken ;  he  has  seen  only  the  moiety  of  his 
robber,  the  sleeping  partner  as  it  were.  The  other  partner 
is  seated  in  a  neighbouring  wine-shop  far  enough  away 
not  to  be  patronized  by  the  bookstall  men,  and  there  he 
awaits  his  comrade  with  the  calm  satisfaction  of  a  for- 
tunate scoundrel  who  has  neatly  succeeded  in  his  attempt. 
Sometimes  two  or  three  individuals  will  walk  together 
along  the  quays  while  an  acolyte  prowls  along  the  shore 
immediately  beneath.  The  walkers  carefully  examine  the 


'54 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


books  placed  all  of  a  row  on  the  stone  at  certain  parts  of 
the  parapet,  and  find  no  difficulty  in  giving  a  volume  a  push 
to  tumble  it  over  into  the  arms  of  the  accomplice  below. 
The  clumsy  thief  who  can  be  run  after  is  rare.     We 

remember  one,  however, 
snatching  an  English 
dictionary  worth  five 
francs  from  the  stall  of 
M.  Rigaud.  Rigaud, 
being  told,  started  off  in 
pursuit.  The  thief  ran 
down  the  line  of  cabs 
and  threw  the  book  into 
one  of  them.  He  was 
captured  and,  in  spite 
of  his  denials,  was  taken 
to  the  station ;  there 
he  was  searched,  and 
several  false  keys  and 
a  jemmy  were  found  on 
him.  He  was  adjudged 
guilty  next  day,  and 
sentenced  to  thirteen 
months'  imprisonment. 
Like  all  dealers  in 
second-hand  goods,  the 
bookstall- keepers  have 
to  make  sure  of  the 

identity  of  the  people  who  sell  them  their  books,  and,  if 
they  do  not  know  them  personally,  to  pay  them  only  at 
their  place  of  abode.  It  is  very  seldom  that  they  break 
this  rule,  which  is  a  very  wise  one,  but  rather  vexatious 
in  practice,  owing  to  the  loss  of  time  and  many  journey- 
ings  it  entails.  The  infraction,  when  indulged  in  only 
now  and  then,  and  with  prudence  and  tact,  has  few  ill 


THE  BOOK-STEALERS  155 


consequences  ;  but  apparently  some  of  the  dealers  offend 
systematically.  Every  book  which  is  offered  to  them  at 
an  absurdly  low  price  is  eagerly  accepted  and  paid  for  on 
the  spot,  without  any  questions  as  to  where  it  comes  from. 
If  this  want  of  scruple  does  not  bring  them  a  fortune,  it 
causes  them  a  good  deal  of  trouble.  Their  comrades 
discover  in  their  boxes  the  books  they  can  identify  as 
having  been  stolen  from  them,  and  although  they  make 
no  accusation  regarding  the  willing  receipt  of  stolen 
property,  they  very  naturally  resume  possession  of  it.  If 
the  imprudent  buyers  are  obliged  to  hand  it  back  and 
lose  the  trifling  price  they  have  paid  for  it,  they  are 
fortunate  in  being  let  off  so  easily. 

A  few  years  ago  some  working  bookbinders  came  to  an 
understanding  with  certain  unscrupulous  stall-keepers,  who 
have  since  disappeared.  The  quays  were  then  well  sup- 
plied with  entirely  new  books,  which  were  nearly  always 
cut — a  precaution  the  very  excess  of  which  was  suspicious. 
This  clandestine  trade  became  a  matter  of  public  notoriety, 
but  to  come  down  on  the  guilty  parties  was  not  easy. 
One  of  them,  however,  was  taken  in  the  act  and  sentenced 
to  six  months'  imprisonment ;  this  made  the  others  more 
careful,  and  in  time  the  dangerous  game  was  played  out. 

A  stall-keeper  on  the  Quai  Voltaire,  whose  name  we 
have  already  mentioned,  was  one  day  the  victim  of  a  mis- 
adventure which  caused  him  to  be  mistaken  for  a  con- 
federate of  this  gang,  notwithstanding  the  honourable 
reputation  he  justly  enjoyed.  He  had  bought  from  a 
journalist,  as  is  often  done,  a  lot  of  new  books  among 
which  were  certain  recent  works  issued  by  the  ex-publisher 
of  the  incoherents,  Jules  Levy. 

Having  bought  them  from  the  journalist  for  an  insigni- 
ficant sum,  he  was  able  to  mark  them  at  very  low  prices. 
A  little  time  after  this  acquisition  a  hawker  bought  a  few, 
and  asked  if  he  could  get  any  more.  The  stall-keeper  was 


156  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


absent,  but  his  neighbour,  who  was  acting  for  him,  replied 
in  a  pompous  way  :  'As  many  as  you  like  !'  This  came 
to  the  ears  of  Jules  Levy,  who  was  then  the  victim  of 
numerous  thefts.  Without  delay  he  had  the  stall-keeper 
arrested  for  receiving  stolen  goods.  The  unhappy  man 
was  put  in  a  cell  by  himself,  a  visitation  was  made  to  his 
house,  several  new  books  from  Hetzels'  were  found  there, 
and  his  guilt  seemed  unmistakable  to  the  worthy  police- 
man. Whereupon  the  neighbour,  understanding  that  he 
was  the  cause  of  the  trouble,  went  and  told  about  his  little 
joke ;  the  presence  of  Hetzels'  books  was  accounted  for  by 
Hetzels  themselves  ;  and  the  policeman,  who  had  reported 
the  capture  of  a  chief  of  a  dangerous  gang,  had  to  set  the 
innocent  stall-keeper  at  liberty  with  many  apologies — rather 
a  poor  compensation  for  two  days'  solitary  confinement. 

The  stall-keepers  are  often  the  victims  of  a  maniac  they 
know  well,  but  who  is  too  clever  for  them,  so  that  they 
have  not  yet  succeeded  in  taking  him  by  surprise.  This 
gentleman's  specialty  is  books  with  illustrations.  When 
a  volume  pleases  him,  he  turns  over  the  leaves  for  a  long 
time  before  making  up  his  mind  to  buy  it ;  but  if  during 
its  examination  he  can  seize  a  favourable  moment,  he 
makes  no  scruple  of  tearing  out  the  plates  and  tranquilly 
restoring  it  to  its  place.  Another  thief  boldly  puts  down 
the  money  and  buys  books  without  much  chaffering ;  but 
from  time  to  time  he  brings  back  one  or  two  volumes 
which  he  accuses  the  stall-keeper  of  having  sold  to  him 
complete,  whereas  on  examination  he  has  found  them  to 
have  several  pages  missing.  Should  the  dealer  have  col- 
lated the  book  and  found  it  correct,  and  raise  difficulties 
as  to  exchanging  the  mutilated  copy,  the  gentleman  will 
adopt  a  high  tone  and  complain  of  being  cheated,  and 
enlarge  on  the  respect  that  should  be  paid  to  him — a  sub- 
stantial man  and  an  excellent  customer.  This  device  was 
discovered  one  fine  day,  and  in  this  way : 


THE  BOOK-STEALERS 


157 


The  man  had  bought  at  one  of  the  stalls  on  the  Quai 
Voltaire  a  book,  of  which  the  stall-keeper  possessed  several 
copies ;  the  copy  sold  had  not  been  cut.  A  few  days  after- 
wards the  purchaser  returned  with  the  volume  cut  from 
the  first  to  the  last  page,  and  declared  that  in  the  course 
of  his  reading  he  had  noticed  that  two  pages  were  missing. 
The  bookstall  man,  delighted  at  having  an  opportunity  of 
convicting  this  undesirable  customer  of  unscrupulousness, 
took  from  his  boxes  a  copy  like  the  one  which  was  said  to 
be  incomplete,  and  easily  showed  that  the  two  missing 
pages  were  part  of  a  sheet  of  which  the  other  pages  were 
present,  and  that  they  could  not  possibly  be  missing  in  an 
uncut  copy  unless  the  whole  sheet  had  been  omitted  in 
binding.  The  demonstration  was  victorious,  and  the 
justly  enraged  stall-keeper  proclaimed  it  far  and  wide 
without  any  regard  for  the  respectability  of  his  customer. 
The  Quai  Voltaire  was  henceforth  relieved  from  the  visits 
of  this  personage,  who  still  finds 
occasional  dupes  on  the  other 
quays. 

A  stall-keeper  of  our  acquaint- 
ance, who  would   give    points    to 
Balzac  or  Vidocq  as  a  physiologist, 
and  to  Bourget  as  a  psychologue, 
has  drawn  up  a  table  of  cases 
of  legitimate  suspicion  which 
every   prudent    dealer    should 
have  always  before  him. 

He  should  be  suspicious  of: 

1.  Women     with    bags    or 

baskets,  and  keep  an  eye  on  all  women  with  muffs. 

2.  Men  or  women  wearing  waterproofs,  or  ulsters  or 
carricks,    and   who   do    not    look    like    ambassadors   or 
princesses. 

3.  Gentlemen  who  bargain  for  a  volume  at  five  francs, 


I58 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


and  have  their  toes  longer  than  their  boots  ;  if  they  offer 
four  francs  fifty,  and  you  take  them  at  their  word,  they 
have  not  the  money  on  them,  and  ask  you  to  put  the  book 
on  one  side  until  they  call  to-morrow.  But  the  morrow 
is  an  obliging  friend  who  passes  without  announcing  his 
presence,  and  takes  off,  without  paying,  the  interesting 
works  that  the  other  has  reported  to  him. 

4.  Keep  close  to  people  in  capacious  coats,  the  back  of 
whose  neck  is  wide  and  wrinkled,  the  back  of  whose  hand 
is  tanned,  while  the  palm  is  smooth  and  white.  These 
are  the  people  who  live  out  of  doors  and  do  not  work. 
Every  trade  leaves  its  stigmata,  and  these  bear  the  mark 
of  the  thief. 

But  we  shall  do  wisely  in  ending  these  wise  observa- 
tions, and  passing  on  to  a  subject  dealing  less  with  the 
police  court  and  more  interesting  on  the  whole,  that  of  the 
physiology  of  the  stall-keeper. 

Kleptomaniac  book-hunters  deserved  a  few  lines  in  our 
study  of  the  frequenters  of  the  Parisian  quays ;  but  in 
truth  they  are  quite  exceptional. 


THE 
PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER. 

HIS    ORIGIN    AND    HIS    CAREER. 

T  would  be  pretentious,  as  we  have  already 
said,  to  endeavour  to  assign  to  living  book- 
stall-keepers as  a  whole  any  well-marked  char- 
acter, or  even  to  describe  in  a  really  definite 
manner  the  peculiarities  of  our  friends  of  the 
quays.  The  principal  reason  for  this  is  the 
one  we  hear  on  all  sides  in  these  days :  '  The  profession 
is  no  longer  what  it  was';  many  come  on  to  the  quays, 
but  few  remain  there,  and  there  consequently  exists 
neither  professional  feeling,  nor  similarity  of  manners  and 
temperament,  nor  regularity  of  attire,  and  hence  the 
complete  absence  of  any  special  type. 

And,    in    addition    to    this,    we   have    now   reached    a 


160  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


chapter  which  necessitates  a  sincere  and  urgent  confession 
as  far  as  we  are  concerned. 

When,  towards  the  end  of  1886 — seven  years  ago,  alas  ! 
— we  sketched  out  this  book,  the  quays  of  Paris,  from  the 
book-hunter's  point  of  view,  were  still  highly  picturesque; 
you  could  then  meet  with  interesting  individualities,  and 
the  boxes  were  occasionally  filled  with  books  that  sug- 
gested thought  and  provoked  perusal.  Three  veterans  of 
the  stall  then  disputed  the  seniority  of  the  corporation 
— Debas,  Malorey,  and  Rosez;  their  presence  on  the 
parapets,  like  the  presence  of  the  old  sergeants  in  a 
regiment,  kept  up  the  old  tradition. 

To  the  stall-keepers  of  the  younger  generation  they 
brought  their  experience  and  their  remembrances,  and  we 
were  glad  to  find  at  their  posts  these  three  ancients  of 
the  immediate  past,  whose  manners,  although  somewhat 
peevish,  were  pleasant  and  courteous,  and  whose  stories 
and  anecdotes  were  occasionally  extraordinary. 

Standing  by  the  side  of  these  were  many  others  whom 
we  have  mentioned  as  an  honour  to  their  trade. 

The  stall-keepers  of  1886,  however,  had  kept  to  their 
movable  stalls  ;  they  camped  on  the  parapets  of  the  Seine 
like  a  tribe  of  nomads,  spending  their  day  out  of  doors, 
exposed  to  the  rain,  to  the  sun,  to  the  storm,  the  only 
shelter  to  their  books  being  tarpaulins,  which  they  unrolled 
as  soon  as  the  sky  clouded  over  and  a  shower  threatened 
to  spoil  everything.  Their  primitive  boxes  were  all 
different  and  full  of  the  unexpected ;  it  seemed  like  a 
huge  vagrancy  of  crippled  books  demanding  alms  of  the 
passer-by,  and  with  curiosity  one  approached  these 
cripples  who  looked  so  proud  in  their  dirt  and  raggedness. 
The  boxes  which  contained  them  were  either  damaged  or 
hastily  nailed  together  like  the  coffins  of  the  pauper's 
grave,  and  daubed  with  staring,  striking  colours  like  the 
prow  of  an  old  Breton  barge ;  all  of  which  looked  delight- 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER         161 


ful,  glaring  in  the  bright  summer  sun  or  streaming  in  the 
winter  rain,  adding  a  strange  aspect  and  a  cheerful  note 
to  the  pleasant  Parisian  scenery. 

The  quays  were  continuously  animated  with  a  life  of 
their  own  ;  in  the 
morning  little  barrows 
of  books  would  arrive 
from  the  side  streets, 
and  on  the  bare  stone 
of  the  parapets  the 


installation  would  com- 
mence; box  by  box  the 
stall-keeper  would  ar- 
range his  temporary  shop 

and  take  up  his  quarters  for  the  day,  complacently  ex- 
pectant of  the  coming  guest.  Often  would  he  lunch 
in  the  open  air,  with  no  seat  or  table  beyond  his 
roulette,  his  wife  also  coming  with  the  hot  meat  and  the 

ii 


162 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


restorative  litre  to  have  her  meal  by  her  husband's  side. 
On  Seine's  delightful  banks,  .ever  alive  with  gaiety,  and 
wrapped  in  an  atmosphere  provocative  of  mirth,  these 
various  transactions  of  the  bookstall  world  would  yield 
many  a  picture  for  the  lounger,  for  whom  Paris  and  her 
adorable  moving  panoramas  were  not  without  fascination. 
In  the  evening,  at  that  vague  hour  when  the  street- 


lamps  are  lighted,  in 
the  slaty  hue  of  the 

dying  day,  the  stall-keepers,  their  day's  work  done,  would 
strike  their  camp  in  haste.  One  by  one  the  heavy  boxes 
were  lifted  up  and  laid  on  the  little  barrow ;  the  parapets 
resumed  their  normal  aspect,  while  along  the  Rues  de 
Beaune,  des  Saint-Peres,  Bonaparte,  Mazarine,  and 
others,  the  booty  of  the  stall-keepers  would  be  hurriedly 
run  towards  the  store-rooms,  bumping  over  the  unequal 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER         163 

paving,  bearing  to  the  ears  of  the  shopkeepers  in  the 
quarter  the  familiar  sound  that  told  them  the  hour  of 
supper  had  come. 

If  these  conditions  of  life  had  nothing  attractive  in  them 
for  the  worthy  stall-keepers,  if  the  fatigue  of  their  eternal 
journeyings  of  the  morning  and  the  night  was  too  much 
for  them,  and  transformed  them  into  Sisyphuses  of  old 
books,  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  for  the  curious  the 
quays  of  Paris,  six  years  ago,  had  more  character  and 
more  life,  and  yielded  more  notable  artistic  phases  than 
they  do  now. 

After  the  petition  to  the  Municipal  Council  in  1888,  on 
the  initiative  of  M.  Jacques,  of  whom  we  have  spoken,  it 
was  decided  two  years  afterwards  to  accord  the  stall- 
keepers  the  right  of  keeping  their  boxes  permanently  on 
the  parapets,  on  condition  that  the  boxes  should  be  fixed 
on  to  the  granite  by  clamps  of  solid  iron  sunk  into  the 
stone,  and  giving  the  wished-for  slope.  Since  1890,  on 
account  of  this  permission,  a  complete  change  has  come 
over  the  quays.  One  Beury,  a  stall-k'eeper  at  the  corner 
of  the  Pont  Neuf,  was  the  first  to  adopt  the  system ;  the 
others  gradually  followed,  and  to-day  the  great  majority 
of  the  stall-keepers  are  the  owners  of  superb  new  boxes, 
covered  with  lids  of  shining  zinc,  clean  as  show-cases,  the 
uniformity  of  which  gives  to  the  open-air  trade  in  books 
such  a  look  of  comfort  and  substantiality,  monotonous  and 
commonplace,  that  the  stalls  appear  to  be  the  branch 
establishments  of  the  shops  opposite  to  them.  When  the 
night  comes,  or  at  the  first  alarm  of  rain,  in  a  twinkling  of 
an  eye  every  box  is  shut,  a  long  iron  bar  is  laid  horizontally 
along  the  cases,  slipped  into  the  staples,  and  padlocked  on 
to  the  parapet.  The  stall-keepers  are  thus  saved  transport 
and  standing  for  the  barrow  and  storage-room  ;  and  the 
books,  less  handled  and  knocked  about  and  more  securely 
protected,  are  kept  in  better  condition.  In  a  practical 


164 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


sense  it  is  undeniable  that  the  new  mode  is  perfect.  The 
stall-keepers  of  six  years  ago,  who  in  1886  inspired  the 
dedication  of  this  book,  which  was  then  in  part  printed, 
and  who  suggested  the  optimistic  opinions  of  our  pre- 
liminary chapter,  are  no  longer  so  nomadic  as  they  were 
then,  nor  are  they  the  strange  Bohemians  who  inspired 
us  with  such  tender  sympathy.  We  spoke  of  them  in 
the  winter  in  the  days  of  bitter  frost,  stoical  in  the  icy 

wind,  their  fingers 
nipped  by  the 
cold,  struggling 


against  the  perfidious  or 
furious  winds  that  swept  the 
pathway,  ready  at  every 

change  in  the  weather  to  roll  or  unroll  the  waterproof 
sheeting  that  covered  their  goods.  We  delighted  in 
comparing  them  with  rude  sailors  setting  out  to  sea  at 
all  times,  hoisting  sail  in  the  storm,  and  steering  accord- 
ing to  the  stream.  Then  at  a  glimpse  of  sunshine  it 
pleased  us  to  see  them  come  forth  like  the  inhabitants  of 
the  ark  when  they  gazed  in  admiration  at  the  colours  of 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER 


165 


the  rainbow,  and  opening  their  boxes  by  degrees  according 
to  the  variations  of  the  barometer. 

All  the  historians  of  the  Paris  pavements,  seekers  after 
the  last  of  the  professions  having  a  trace  of  independence 
about  them,  have  been  seized  like  us  with  a  vague  senti- 
mentalism  for  these  excellent  stall-keepers,  whose  life  was 
so  hard  ;  as  also  have  the  serious  chroniclers,  those  who 
know  the  joys  of  leisurely  book-hunting,  blended  with 


L4.-I.\_.        J  \_/  y  *j         v^A          A  \-AOV4  A.  \*±  V  t~f\  /  \_/ IX      li  I 

: 


observation,  who  used 
frequently  to  speak  of 
these  trading  philo- 
sophers of  the  open 
air,  whose  gain  was 
often  so  dispropor- 
tionate to  their  pain. 
That  is  why  this  book 

was  undertaken  in  1886  at  a  propitious  moment.  Now 
we  have  only  to  finish  it ;  the  quays  are  crowded  up  with 
books,  and  soon  will  be  but  long  lines  of  commonplace 
shops,  all  alike  and  all  uninteresting. 

The  majority  of  the  men  who  now  share  the  parapets 
are,  as  we  have  already  said,  stall-keepers  from  other 
trades,  mere  booksellers  for  the  time  being,  rapidly 


1 66 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


initiated  into  a  trade  under  the  relatively  easy  conditions 
we  propose  forthwith  to  enumerate. 

Since  the  law  as  to  the  liberty  of  the  press,  that  is  to 
say,  since  1881,  all  the  impediments  in  the  bookselling 
trades  have  been  removed,  and  applications  for  stall-space 
have  flowed  into  the  prefecture  of  the  Seine.  Generally 

these  applications 
are  immediately 
granted,  and  thus 
we  have  the  ever- 
increasing  number 
of  the  stalls,  for  it 
is  in  vain  that  you 
will  seek  a  vacant  spot  between  the  Pont  Notre  Dame 
and  the  Pont  Royal ;  and  it  has  even  been  necessary  to 
organize  in  the  mairic  of  the  Fourth  Arrondissement  a 
service  de  piguagc  to  enable  the  applicants  crowded  out 
from  the  right  bank,  which  is  in  the  Seventh  Arrondisse- 
ment, to  settle  on  the  left  bank,  which  will  soon  be  as 
crowded  as  the  other. 

This  flood  of  stall-keepers,  overflowing  from  so  many 
very  different  trades,  is  a  subject  of  constant  complaint 
on  the  part  of  those  who  remember  with  bitterness  the 
old  faces  that  have  vanished  from  our  parapets.  The  few 
second-hand  booksellers  worthy  of  the  name,  who  have 
kept  themselves  afloat  amid  the  inundation  of  strange 
elements,  who  have  always  lived  on  books  and  by  books, 
are  loud  in  their  chorus  of  lamentation.  '  It  is  not 
proper  trading!  They  sell  books  as  they  would  sell 
apples!  There  is  nothing  worth  having  to  be  got  now! 
Genuine  customers  are  disgusted  and  go  away!  What  is 
to  become  of  us  all  ?' 

There  is  much  truth  in  these  complaints ;  but  the 
multiplication  of  stall-keepers,  and  their  bibliognostic 
incompetence,  must  not  be  considered  as  the  preponder- 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER         167 


ating  causes  of  this  crisis  in  the  second-hand  book  trade, 
for  during  the  last  ten  years  there  have  been  many  modi- 
fications which  have  found  their  way  into  the  sale-room. 
Formerly  the  expert  only  put  in  an  appearance  at  the 
important  sales;  he  aided  the  auctioneer  in  acting  in 
the  best  interest  of  the  heirs  in  the  dispersal  of  known 
libraries,  occasionally,  however,  venturing  a  few  inquiries 
into  private  collections  reported  to  him  as  containing 
rarities ;  but  that  was  all — the  everyday  sort  of  books  being 
sold  in  lots,  at  haphazard,  without  preliminary  sorting,  that 
is  to  say,  with  the  chance  of  an  occasional  windfall.  It  is 
not  so  now;  the  smallest  lot,  even  of  ten  volumes,  is 
passed  through  the  sieve;  the  baskets,  the  good  baskets  of 
the  fat  and  happy  years,  hold  now  but  a  hybrid  mass  of 
things  without  a  name :  stained  pamphlets,  soiled  with 
candle-grease  and  oil,  old  directories,  diaries,  almanacks, 
and  other  rubbish.  The  unfortunate  stall-keeper,  re- 
duced to  the  supplies  from  the  Hotel  Drouot,  to  which 
he  cannot  obtain  admission  without  an  understanding 
with  the  black  gang,  can  no  longer  stock  his  stall  but 
with  the  odds  and  ends  that  are  abandoned  to  him  with 
regret. 

There  is  the  Salle  Sylvestre  as  well,  where  the  bidding 
is  more  open,  and  the  lots  fairer  and  more  merchantable ; 
but  the  sales  there  get  rarer  every  day,  and  their  arrange- 
ment necessitates  considerable  purchases  for  him  who 
would  be  constant  in  his  more  agreeable  and  more  lucra- 
tive attendance  at  this  room.  The  other  stall-keepers, 
the  less  fortunate  ones  (and  they  are  the  most  numerous), 
have  therefore  but  very  limited  resources,  which  com- 
pletely fail  them  during  the  long  summer  months.  The 
marches  bourgeois  are  also  unknown  to  the  greater  number, 
for  the  water  flowing  always  to  the  river,  it  is  naturally 
to  the  richest  stalls  that  the  vendors  apply  to  clear  off  the 
excess  of  their  libraries ;  and,  it  may  as  well  be  admitted, 


168  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

almost  without  exception  these  stalls  are  maintained 
or  retained  by  the  booksellers.  The  marche  bourgeois 
is  thus  beyond  the  reach  of  the  poor  bookstall-keeper, 
who  is  reduced,  as  we  see,  to  the  rummagings  of  the  sale- 
room, whether  he  frequents  the  '  unclean  cavern,'  or 
consents  to  be  supplied  by  the  hawkers  who  take  his  place 
in  this  attendance,  and  come  soon  afterwards  to  offer  him 
on  the  quays  their  meagre  hauls,  naturally  increased  in 
price  by  as  much  as  he  can  stand. 

These  petty  details  may  not  seem  to  have  much  to  do 
with  the  physiology  of  the  stall-keeper ;  but  that  is  a 
mistake.  They  will  be  developed  in  our  chapter  on  the 
book  trade,  but  it  was  of  advantage  to  mention  them  here, 
so  as  to  show  the  logic  of  the  lamentations  common  to 
book-hunters  and  bookstall-keepers. 

No,  alas!  the  quays  will  never  more  see  the  excellent 
stalls  of  former  days,  which  held  in  their  boxes  we  so 
lovingly  searched  the  edition,  rare  or  curious,  we  had 
coveted  so  long,  or  the  mere  implement  of  work  yield- 
ing at  one  and  the  same  time  the  pleasure  of  an  in- 
estimable find  and  the  satisfaction  of  a  benefit  often 
considerable. 

To-day  the  book-hunters,  tired  of  seeking  in  vain  among 
the  heterogeneous  productions  which  are  only  very 
distantly  related  to  the  domain  of  thought,  are  dis- 
couraged, and  make  but  very  occasional  appearances  on 
the  quays,  if  they  do  not  disappear  altogether. 

The  stall-keeper  has  to  make  up  for  the  circle  that 
is  abandoning  him  by  another  circle  which  formerly 
he  used  to  despise,  and  that  is  why  he  seeks  the 
passer-by. 

The  passer-by  for  the  bookstall- man  is  the  unknown 
customer  whom  the  chances  of  life  bring  one  day  on  the 
quay,  and  whom  he  may  never  again  set  eyes  on.  He 
will  profit  by  his  walk  to  give  a  casual  glance  at  the 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER        169 


stalls,  and  occasionally  allow  himself  to  be  tempted  by 
the  sight  of  a  Larousse,  a  Cuisiniere  bourgeoise,  or  a  Roman 
of  Dumas  pere  reduced  to  six  sous.  During  the  holidays 
this  passer-by  may  have  come  with  his  son  iri  search  of 
a  Quicherat  or  some  other  classic  necessary  for  studies  at 
school.  On  Sundays  a  special  circle  of  small  tradesmen 
and  workmen  appear  on  the  quays.  This  is  a  good  day 
for  the  few  who  open  their  boxes,  and  offer  mammas  and 
their  daughters  the  choice  of  piano  pieces  at  o  fr.  10,  or 
patterns  of  needlework,  or  flowers  to  paint,  etc.;  or  offer 
the  workman  a  collection  of  former  feuilletons  read  on 
the  ground-floor  of  his  journal,  or,  in  more  serious  vein,  a 
handbook  on  smith's  work,  or  cabinet  work  or  decoration. 
All  of  which  go  off  better  than  cakes. 

The  keeping  up  of  a  stock  like  this  does  not  require  a 
very  varied  bibliographic  knowledge ;  the  stall-keeper  has 
to  provide  for  the  day  only,  to  live  by  his  trade  as  well  as 
he  can,  and,  as  in  all  trades,  to  work  hard  and  get  money. 
Knowledge,  it  may  be  frankly  said,  has  become  a  load 
more  harmful  than  useful  to  contemporary  second-hand 
booksellers. 

It  will  be  gathered  that  with  these  new  ways  the 
general  physiology  of  the  quays  is  being  rapidly  reduced 
to  a  level.  The  originality  of  the  old  stall-keepers  was 
due  in  some  \vay  to  the  singular  resemblance  which 
existed  between  their  character  and  the  special  nature  of 
their  merchandise.  Each  stall-keeper  had  then  his 
peculiar  class  of  books  in  accordance  with  his  ideas  and 
disposition.  All  of  them  were  as  much  philosophers  as 
dealers ;  during  the  quiet,  happy  hours  of  summer,  in 
the  good,  warm,  communicative  sun,  they  found  in  the 
authors  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  the 
elements  of  a  singular  conversation  often  fairly  substantial 
and  interesting.  Their  old  customers  soon  became  their 
friends;  similarity  of  thought  awoke  agreeable  sympathies; 


I7o  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


pleasing  discussions  were  often  prolonged  beyond  the 
time  necessary  for  the  daily  acquisitions,  and  in  this 
daily  contact  the  mind  of  the  bookseller  became  every  day 

more  identified  with  that  of 
the  book-writer  and  also  with 
the  minds  of  his  favourite 
patrons  ;  to  those  faces,  oc- 
casionally common  by  birth, 
this  vague  intellectual  culture, 
constant  and  conscious,  gave 
them  an  expression  of  satis- 
faction and  an  air  of  under- 
standing ;  their  features  be- 
came refined,  and  their  look 
gifted  with  the  clearness  and 
fervour  and  archness  undeniably  acquired  by  superficial 
erudition  and  daily  intercourse  with  the  distinguished 
and  elevating. 

Their  ways  were  influenced  by  this  ;  their  courtesy  was, 
doubtless,  a  little  obsequious  and  antiquated,  and  their 
attire  affected  the  style  and  negligences  analogous  to 
those  of  the  learned,  careless  of  draperies  and  mere  ex- 
ternals, but  these  wise  dealers  and  peripatetic  philosophers 
had  a  physiognomy  worthy  of  attention,  and  their  conver- 
sation was  not  without  zest. 

In  a  mixed  crowd  of  professionals,  you  could  ten  years 
ago  unmistakably  pick  out  the  second-hand  bookseller ; 
while  to-day  he  is  indistinguishable  from  other  mortals. 
The  change  is  complete.  For  good  or  evil,  the  evolution 
has  been  accomplished;  a  ditch  has  been  dug  between  the 
manners  of  the  bookstall-keeper  of  the  past  and  those  of 
his  successor,  which  will  grow  wider  with  time.  Should 
we  regret  this?  We  hardly  know.  In  any  case,  if  the 
distinctive  type  of  the  profession  has  disappeared,  if  the 
relief  of  the  effigy  has  been  effaced  and  lost  its  character, 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER         171 


the  main  body  has  retained  its  character  for  indifference, 
good-humour,  conversational  ease,  and  familiar  irony  such 
as  would  only  be  expected  of  open-airists  living  in  the  light 
and  in  perambulating  liberty. 

The  bookstall  man  is  an  amusing  fellow,  easily  jovial, 
prompt  at  discussion  on  every  subject  under  the  sun ;  he 
is,  more  often  than  not,  good  company,  without  apparent 
jealousy  or  real  envy.  Entering 
eagerly  into  the  excitement  of  the 
auction-room,  delighting  in  run- 
ning up  lot  after  lot  against  his 
colleague,  he  forgets  in  the  morning 
on  the  quay  the  outbursts  of  the 
night  before  at  the  Salle  Sylvestre, 
and  cordially  shakes  the  hand 
which  has  failed  to  grapple  him. 
He  understands  the  advantage  of 
community  of  interests,  and  prac- 
tises it  largely.  There  is  never  a 
subscription  list  in  favour  of  an  unfortunate  colleague  to 
which  he  does  not  subscribe  generously  ;  and  without  hesi- 
tation he  will  leave  his  stall  to  follow  the  funeral  of  a  dead 
comrade,  or  that  of  any  member  of  any  comrade's  family. 

A  bit  of  a  toper  by  nature,  never  averse  to  an  appetiser, 
and  always  ready  for  a  drink,  the  bookstall  man  is  never 
a  drunkard  for  drinking's  sake  ;  he  invariably  keeps  him- 
self fit  for  his  work,  and  his  morality  is  above  suspicion. 

Without  pretending  that  scrupulous  honesty  on  the 
quays  is  a  rule  without  exception,  we  may  affirm  that  the 
bookstall  man  is  almost  always  honest  at  heart,  and, 
whether  he  buys  or  sells,  rejoices  in  straightforwardness. 
The  spirit  of  the  Norman  is  generally  strong  within  him, 
but  whether  it  be  matter  of  sale  or  loan,  his  word  is  ever 
as  good  as  his  bond.  Any  bargaining  you  may  have  begun, 
any  deposit  you  may  have  made,  is  safe  enough  with  him. 


172 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


It  is  the  general  rule  on  the  quays  to  sell  incomplete  books 
as  such,  and  to  put  a  price  on  everything,  without,  as  is 
done  in  other  trades,  fixing  the  price  according  to  the  look 
of  the  buyer  and  the  eagerness  he  shows  for  possession. 
There  are  a  few  exceptions,  as  we  have  shown  in  this 
book,  and  a  few  stall-keepers  take  advantage  of  the  manner 
or  appearance  or  eagerness  of  a  customer  to  increase  their 
price ;  but  the  rule  exists,  nevertheless. 

Paul  Lacroix,  in  a  little  book  entitled  Ma  Rcpubliquc, 
briefly   sketched    a   vague   and   appreciative 
physiology  of  the  bookstall  man,  from  which 
we  may  extract  the  most  curious  passages. 


'  How  much,'  says  he,  '  is  this  humble  and  paltry  trade 
dependent  on  the  mildness  and  repose  of  the  atmosphere  ! 
The  stall-keeper  who  lives  with  a  roof  over  his  head, 
or  at  the  wine-bar,  foresees  the  storm  even  further  off 
than  the  old  pilot,  and  predicts  fine  weather  with  more 
facility  than  the  Bureau  des  Longitudes.  Behold  him  as 
he  watches  the  drift  of  the  clouds  and  the  gyrations  of  the 
weathercock ;  he  shakes  his  head  and  runs  into  port  with 
the  ship  that  bears  his  fortune,  or  he  rubs  his  hands  and 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER         173 


sings    as   he  spreads  out  his  cargo  without   fear  of  the 
storm. 

'  Often  a  novice,  who  knows  not  the  secret  oracles  of  the 
barometer,  will  trust  in  a  blue  sky  and  a  deceitful  sun,  to 
see  the  elements  make  sport  of  his  fragile  fortune,  the 
hurricane  suddenly  swoop  on  his  tattered  bindings,  the 
rain  in  huge  drops  mark  his  virgin  ^^^^^ 
page,  and  stream  from  leaf  to  leaf, 
submerging  even  the  Bible  in  this 
new  deluge. 

'  Thus  did  the  labourer  of  Virgil, 


of  Delille,  of  Thomson,  of 
Saint  Lambert,  weep  for  his 
harvests  and  the  work  of  a 
year  lost  in  a  day. 

'  The  only  Manuel  du  Libraire  studied  by  the  stall-keeper 
is  the  physiognomy  of  the  purchaser  ;  one  smiles,  another 
sighs,  another  knits  his  brows,  another  bites  his  lips ;  a 
fifth,  more  troubled,  will  finger  twenty  volumes  before 
he  sets  his  hand  on  the  book  he  desires ;  and  all  betray 


174 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


themselves  in  some  way,  which  does  not  escape  the 
bookstall-man,  who  is  as  acute  and  astute  as  an  English 
ambassador.' 

'In  personal  appearance,'  says  Bibliophile  Jacob,  'the 
bookstall-man  partakes  of  the  condition  of  his  books — 
exposed  to  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  weather,  sprouted 
and  shrivelled  in  the  sun,  beaten  and  dried  by  the  wind, 
spotted  and  discoloured  by  the  rain.' 

What  dear  old  Paul  Lacroix  does  not  say  is,  that  the 


bookstall-man  varies  according  to  his  zones.  On  the  Quai 
Voltaire,  for  instance,  he  is  a  gentleman  in  bearing  and 
dignity.  On  the  Quai  Malaquais  we  are  in  the  academic 
zone;  the  influence  of  the  Institute  is  apparent;  the  dealer 
is  more  dogmatic,  he  discourses  more  on  bibliographic 
matters,  and  the  books  he  shows  are  in  better  condition. 
On  the  Quai  Conti,  literature  triumphs  and  elevates  the 
dignity  of  the  profession  ;  he  knows  that  before  reaching 
the  Pont  des  Arts,  or  on  coming  down  from  it,  the  Im- 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER 


175 


mortals  will  deign  to  honour  his  humble  stall  with  a  pass- 
ing glance,  and,  as  he  knows  them  all,  he  is  proud  of  the 
sympathy  of  some  of  them.  His  boxes  are  always  in  good 
order,  his  books  are  in  line  and  right  side  up  ;  he  watches 
over  them  as  carefully 
as  a  captain  watches 
over  his  company,  for  he 
is  always  on  review  by 
some  high  personages, 
such  as  dukes,  or  princes, 
or  marquises,  or  poets, 


or  dramatists,  or  novelists. 
•^_  His     manners     are    culti- 

vated ;  affable  and  cour- 
teous, the  bookstall-man  of  the  Quai  Conti  is  a  good 
conversationalist  and  invariably  well  informed. 

In   the   more   popular   zone  of  the  Quai  des  Grands 
Augustins  matters  are  more   free-and-easy.      The  boxes 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


have  a  more  cheerful  look,  and  order  is  not  so  apparent ; 
the  books  are  in  picturesque  disarray ;  and  as  the  shepherd 
generally  assumes  the  physiognomy  of  his  flock,  the  stall- 
keeper  of  these  parts  is  less  correct  in  his  attire  and  less 
refined  in  his  manners ;  often  he  wears  a  blouse,  and  his 
boxes  are  filled  with  feuilleton  stories,  Roret  Manuels,  or 
even  Journaux  des  Dames  or  des  Demoiselles. 

The  Quai  Saint  Michel  is,  beyond  all,  the  quay  of  the 
students  ;  many  of  the  shopkeepers  in  front  of  it  have 
stalls  on  the  parapet ;  there  youth  and  art  and  literature 
reign.  In  all  Paris  that  is  the  place  where  volumes  of 
verse  have  the  best  chance  of  being  welcomed  by  the 
gentle  symbolists,  or  the  fiery  disciples  of  the  romantic 
school,  and  the  stall-keepers  blend  their  stock  accordingly. 
A  little  higher  up  we  reach  the  Pont  Notre  Dame,  and 
light  upon  a  sort  of  bazaar  of  antiquities,  where  we  find 

more  old  iron  than  old 
books.  Here  we  have  the 
music-dealers,  the 
dealers  in  odds  and 
ends  of  all  kinds, 
jumbled  up  with  piles 
of  bric-a-brac  that  have 
a  particularly  odd  look. 
Here  Remonencq  has 
set  up  as  a  stall- keeper  ; 
family  portraits  jostle  old  trombones,  helmets  of  rusty 
iron,  clocks  bereaved  of  their  faces,  plated  salt-cellars, 
and  crockery  more  or  less  ancient  in  appearance  but 
modern  and  counterfeit  in  reality.  Now  and  then  you 
may  pick  up  something  worth  having.  A  friend  of  ours 
once  unearthed  here  an  excellent  study  of  Carolus 
Duran,  for  which  he  paid  two  francs,  and  a  Monticelli 
in  his  first  manner,  which  cost  him  no  more  than  a 
crown. 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER         177 

That  is  the  last  zone  of  the  stall-keepers  on  which  we 
propose  to  enter. 

But  a  word  for  the  medalist  who  displays,  duly  cata- 


logued  and  ticketed,  in  handsome  show-cases,  coins  and 

tokens  in  every  metal,  from  bronze  to  gold,  which  gleam  in 

the  sun  and  are  always  worth  looking  at  as  you  pass  by. 

The  proprietor  of  these  glass  cases  is  generally 

the  prince  of  stall-keepers.     The  medalist  is, 

in    fact,    fat,    shiny,    plump    as   a 

money-bag.     His  comrades  in  the 

book  trade  are  thin,  dry,  and  often 

bald ;    he    is    full-blooded,    round, 

and  hirsute.     He  is  a  capitalist — 

for  medals  on  the  quays  sell  at  twenty-five  francs,  while 

prints  and  books  rarely  fetch   more  than  two  or  three. 

The   difference   is  great;   but  you   only  meet  with   two 

12 


178  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

medalists  for  a  hundred  bookstall  men,  and  though  it 
may  be  true  that  competition  is  the  friend  of  commerce, 
it  is  only  just  to  add  that  a  specialty  or  a  monopoly  has 
always  more  money  in  it. 

Let  us  return  to  our  books,  and  say  something  of 

THE    BOOKSTALL-KEEPER   IN    HIS    SHOP. 

We  have  said  above  that  the  stalls  with  the  best  stock 
of  books  are  generally  in  connection  with  the  bookshops. 
Some  of  the  bookstall-men  are  agitating  against  this  state 
of  things,  against  which  they  have  a  strong  feeling,  and 
they  have  formed  a  sort  of  committee  which  is  always 
busy.  This  is  the  source  of  those  fanciful  paragraphs, 
occasionally  appearing  in  the  Paris  papers,  representing 
the  quays  as  disturbed  by  a  revolutionary  spirit  owing  to 
the  imaginary  grievances  of  the  stall-keepers  against  the 
bookshops  opening  branches  on  the  parapets — or  even 
taking  the  form  of  petitions  to  the  Municipal  Council,  with 
the  view  of  putting  bookshelves  on  the  parapet,  rising  to 
a  height  of  I  m.  25,  with  three  rows  on  toothed  racks — 
thus  shutting  out  the  view  of  the  Seine. 

These  protesters  are  in  a  minority,  but  it  is  as  well  to 
listen  to  their  complaints  : 

'  The  position  is  becoming  impossible,'  remarked,  to  a 
colleague  of  ours  on  the  press,  one  of  those  humble  stall- 
men  who  are  to  the  high-class  bookseller  what  the  left-off- 
clothes  dealer  is  to  a  tailor  on  the  boulevards.  '  There 
will  soon  be  no  second-hand  bookseller  in  the  sense 
formerly  understood  ;  that  is  to  say,  a  small  bookseller 
dealing  in  all  sorts  of  books,  to  whom  the  amateur  in 
moderate  circumstances  could  apply  for  the  pearl  to 
enrich  his  collection  at  a  moderate  price.  To-day,  sir, 
many  of  the  booksellers  have  a  shop  in  the  street  and  a 
box  on  the  quays. 

'  My  neighbour  occupies,  in  the  Rue  de  Seine,  a  house 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER        179 


of  the  second  class,  which  is  well  known  there.  Should 
he  not  be  content  with  his  ordinary  circle  of  customers, 
which  are  quite  enough  for  him  ?  But  he  must  needs 
come  and  compete  with  us  poor  devils  whose  boxes  are 
our  only  livelihood.  Ah  !  if  we  only  had  the  goods  to 
compete  with  him  on  equal  terms  ;  but  at  the  public  sales 
and  at  the  sales  of  dead  men's  books  we  have  no  chance  of 
even  a  look  in.  These  gentlemen  have  an  understanding 
amongst  themselves  to  keep  us  from  getting  even  a  bone 
to  pick ;  they  run  the  biddings  up  so  high  that  we  are 
quite  out  of  it.  The  big  plums,  the  rare  books,  the  costly 
bindings,  the  proof  engravings,  we  would  gladly  leave  to 
them  ;  for  we  cannot  help  it ;  but  what  do  they  want 
with  the  small  fry — the  books  that 
are  damaged,  or  of  little  value  ?  Yet 
these  people  have  a  most  ferocious 
appetite  !  They  seize  on  these  trifles 
of  the  sale-room  and  feed  their  boxes 
with  them,  while  ours — look  !  it  is 
miserable.  Even  purchases  made 
for  our  customers  are  put  beyond  us  ; 
the  booksellers  will  pay  more  than  we 
can  for  every  book  they  have  a  chance  of  selling  again, 
and  the  customer  naturally  applies  to  them.  How  are 
we  to  keep  our  boxes  stocked  ?  How  are  we  to  struggle 
on  ?  And  many  of  my  colleagues  are  family  men  !' 

These  complaints  are  not  without  foundation.  In  fact 
the  stations  on  the  parapets  ought  not  to  be  given,  it 
would  seem,  but  to  applicants  whose  indigence  is  acknow- 
ledged ;  but  certain  booksellers  manage  to  secure  the  best 
either  by  influence  or  by  applying  for  them  on  behalf  of 
their  work-people  or  relatives. 

For  this  reason,  certain  stall-holders  last  year  thought 
of  calling  a  meeting  of  their  colleagues,  to  consider  what 
measures  should  be  taken  against  these  shop-keeping 


i8o  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


bookstall  men.  During  the  day  a  petition  had  been  circu- 
lated which  was  covered  with  signatures ;  but  in  the  even- 
ing the  opponents  of  the  agitation,  seeing  that  they  were 
in  a  majority,  took  action,  and  rendered  the  efforts  of  the 
protesters  of  no  effect  by  voting  for  the  statu  quo  in  the 
following  terms : 

1.  The  second-hand  booksellers  assembled  at  3,  Boule- 
vard Saint  Michel,  on  the  3rd  of  July,  1891,  tender  their 
thanks  to  the  Municipal  Council  for  the  favour  accorded  to 
them  in  permitting  their  stalls  to  remain  at  night  on  the 
parapets,  and  declare  themselves  satisfied  with  this  im- 
provement, and  desire  nothing  more. 

2.  As   regards  the  proposal  for  forming  a  society  for 
mutual    help,    considering   that    there    are    not    enough 
members  of  the  trade  for  such  an  association  to  offer  any 
advantages  worth  having ;  they  pass  to  the  order  of  the 
day. 

3.  As   regards   the   proposal   for   delegating   to    a  few 
persons  the  power  of  going  to  the  public  sales  and  pur- 
chasing books  on  behalf  of  the  rest,  considering  that  the 
action  of  such  an  association  is  illegal,  and  would  render 
them  open  to  prosecution  ;  they  pass  to  the  order  of  the 
day. 

4.  As  regards  the  complaints   on  the   subject   of  the 
keepers  of  shops  having   stalls  in  addition,  considering 
that  most  of  these  have  become  keepers  of  bookshops 
after  having  obtained  their  permission  as  keepers  of  stalls, 
and  that  it  would  be  unjust  to  deprive  them  of  an  outlet 
probably  indispensable  ;  they  pass  to  the  order  of  the  day. 

From  this  it  will  be  seen  that  most  of  the  bookstall  men 
were  content  to  smother  their  professional  jealousy  to  give 
effect  to  their  ideas  of  justice.  In  fact,  all  they  could  ask 
the  administration  was  for  them  to  reserve  the  spaces  at 
their  disposal  for  applicants  who  were  not  in  a  position  to 
open  a  more  substantial  shop.  The  booksellers  already 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER         181 


established  would  then  obtain  no  further  concessions. 
But  the  abuse  does  not  exist  to  the  extent  supposed  ;  and 
it  has  happened  to  many  of  the  stall-keepers  to  be  able, 
after  some  years,  to  take  a  little  shop  in  the  vicinity.  This 
was  the  case  with  M.  Corroenne  on  the  Quai  Voltaire, 
with  Dorbon  in  the  Rue  Seine,  with  Sagot  in  the  Rue 
Guenegaud,  with  Gougy  on  the  Quai  Conti,  with  Bridoux 
on  the  same  quay ;  and  we  may  also  mention  Chacornac 
and  Gibert  on  the  Quay  Saint  Michel. 

Others,  without  having  shops  in  the  street,  have  made 
enough  money  to  fit  up  a  room  with  a  few  shelves,  where 
customers  can  come  by  appointment  and  pick  out  their 
books  with  more  comfort  than  on  the  quay.  These  stall- 
keepers  in  a  rather  larger  way  find  that  this  duplicate 
stock  allows  them  to  work  on  rainy  days,  and  thus  enjoy 
the  just  reward  for  their  more  active  intelligence  and  more 
fortunate  perseverance. 

Occasionally,  this  increase  in  fortune  comes  from  a 
marriage  which,  in  default  of  a  dowry,  has  procured  the 
husband  a  valuable  assistant  in  his  wife,  or  perhaps  from 
having  come  into  a  little  money.  But  it  has  never  been 
shown,  though  it  would  be  easy  to  prove  the  contrary, 
that  the  stall  is  not  the  principal  outlet,  and,  in  fact,  the 
indispensable  drain  for  both  establishments.  To  deprive 
them  of  the  stall  on  the  quay  would  be  to  deprive  them  of 
their  cradle,  and  to  punish  them  for  having  grown,  and, 
more,  to  plunge  them,  perhaps,  into  ruin.  It  should  also 
be  said  that  it  is  the  narrowest  spirit  of  jealousy  which 
leads  certain  stall-keepers  to  complain  of  the  presence  on 
the  quays  of  these  more  fortunate  colleagues,  who  are 
generally  much  harder  and  more  meritorious  workers. 

In  fact,  far  from  being  prejudiced  against  their  neigh- 
bours, these  bookshop  stall-keepers  do  much  towards  keep- 
ing up  the  good  name  of  the  quays.  They  do  not  sell 
their  books  at  low  prices,  and  consequently  do  not  compete 


1 82  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


unfairly  with  the  rest  ;  they  stock  their  boxes,  if  not  with 
rarities,  at  least  with  books  in  good  condition ;  at  the 
public  sales  they  are  not  formidable  competitors,  and  that 
for  two  reasons,  the  first  being  that  they  find  buying  at 
the  marches  bourgeois  more  lucrative  than  at  the  auction- 
room,  and  the  second,  that,  having  a  better  knowledge  of 
books,  they  do  not  take  part  in  those  senseless  steeplechases 
in  which  certain  ridiculous  stall-keepers  bid  up  books  to 
double  their  real  value.  Thus  the  campaign  undertaken 
unsuccessfully  up  to  the  present  by  two  well-known  leaders, 
and  sustained  by  the  incompetence  of  certain  newspapers, 
is  a  campaign  reasonable  enough  at  first  sight,  but  unin- 
telligent and  illiberal  on  closer  acquaintance. 

Among  those  who  are  at  the  head  of  the  malcontents, 
there  is,  curious  to  relate,  a  former  bookshop-keeper  of 
education  and  immeasurable  self-admiration  (were  we  to 
name  him,  he  would  hurl  against  us  a  bull  of  bibliographic 
excommunication,  in  the  form  of  a  pamphlet  or  article 
difficult  to  place).  This  great  apostle  of  the  second-hand 
book  has  fallen  from  the  bookshop  to  the  quay,  and  that 
is  why,  out  of  rancour,  he  has  vowed  such  hate  against 
his  old  comrades. 

This  former  shop  was  not  particularly  clean — it  was 
near  the  Hopital  de  la  Charite — and  amid  an  odour  of  dirt 
and  a  swarm  of  the  infinitely  little  on  the  floor,  you  had 
to  submit  to  the  fastidious  conversation  of  the  Grand 
Lama  of  bibliography,  preaching  against  the  foolishness 
of  the  times.  That  was  fifteen  years  ago — some  of  us 
remember  it — and  the  master  of  the  house  was  then  at 
all  times  and  under  all  circumstances  recruiting  at  the 
door. 

The  temptation  is  great  to  take  a  stroll  past  the  principal 
bookshops  doing  business  on  the  quays,  but  it  would  take 
more  than  a  chapter ;  it  would  require  a  book  to  itself. 

The  Quai  Voltaire  and  the  Quai  Malaquais  would  offer 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER         183 


many  amusing  sketches  of  men  and  booksellers;  the  Fillets, 
the  Delaroques,  the  Paches,  the  Champions,  the  Porquet, 
Foulard  et  Cies.,  would  furnish  matter  quite  as  amusing  as 
the  men  on  the  Quai  Conti  and  the  Quai  des  Grands 
Augustins.  The  shop  where  lived,  five  years  ago,  that  king 
of  bibliographers,  the  most  learned  man  of  his  time,  and 

most  renowned  among  biblio- 
logues,  M.  Claudin,  is  still  in 
a  wretched  state  in  the  Rue 
Guenegaud.  This  was  the 


strangest  workshop  that  could  be  dreamt  of.  Outside, 
it  was  of  the  most  forlorn  aspect,  with  its  facia  half 
broken,  its  windows  spotted  with  mud,  its  panels  covered 
with  dust ;  inside,  under  a  fabulous  heap  of  books,  like 
an  enchanter  in  his  grotto,  sat  the  worthy  Claudin,  with 
his  face  like  some  learned  Dutchman's  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  his  white  beard  and  long  silvery  hair,  working 
unceasingly,  and  informing  visitors  on  every  doubtful 
point,  and  on  all  cases  of  conscience  in  ancient  book- 
selling. 


1 84 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


Nowadays,  Claudin  lives  in  the  Rue  Dauphine,  but  has 
no  shop.  Everyone  knows  his  catalogues,  crammed  with 
valuable  notes,  which  we  would  be  tempted  to  keep  and 
collect  if  the  dear  man  would  only  introduce  more  method 
into  his  classification  of  books,  instead  of  giving  his  slips 
to  the  printer  without  any  thought  of  classification  what- 
ever. 

Almost  opposite  the  Pont  Neuf,  the  shop  of  Bridoux, 

where  the  books  are  piled 
up  in  heavy  colonnades  and 
other  architectural  devices,  is 


worthy  of  notice,  for  assuredly  no  artistic  bibliophile  has 
dreamt  of  the  fine  etching  that  a  Meryon  could  have 
made  of  this  surprising  portico  of  old  books. 

Every  shop  on  the  Quai  des  Grands  Augustins  is  also 
worthy  of  a  monograph,  and  when  we  reach  the  Quai 
Saint  Michel,  we  should  have  the  pleasure  of  staying  a 
few  moments  with  Vanier,  the  publisher  of  children's 
books,  whose  establishment  is  so  cheerful-looking,  so  dis- 
tinctive, so  prettily  decorated  with  men  of  the  day,  so 
interesting  from  the  crowd  around  it  during  the  afternoon. 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER 


185 


At  Jolly's,  too,  we  should  also  stop,  for  Jolly  is  a  specialist 
very  much  alive  to  modern  ideas  of  art  and  literature,  and 
keeps  a  large  stock  of  contemporary  prints,  original  draw- 
ings, in  water-colour  and  oil,  to  say  nothing  of  the  books 
a  little  above  commonplace,  which  j 
bear  the  names  of  all  the  some- 
bodies and  none  of  the  anybodies 
of  the  day.  Chacornac,  son-in- 
law  or  father-in- 
law  we  are  not 
sure  which,  of 
Jules  Lermina, 


has  also,  close  to  Jolly's,  a  very  well-chosen  array,  which 
we  can  salute  as  we  pass. 

These  stall-keepers  at  their  shops  are  but  an  incident  in 
the  course  of  our  promenade  along  the  quays  ;  they  are 
somewhat  of  aristocrats  .among  our  dear  stall-keepers,  to 
whom  we  must  return  to  add  a  paragraph  indispensable 
to  their  physiology,  under  the  heading  of : 


186  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

HOW    TO    BECOME    A    BOOKSTALL-KEEPER. 

During  the  last  ten  years  the  number  of  stall-keepers, 
which,  up  to  1860,  had  remained  almost  stationary,  has 
doubled  at  the  very  least.  It  may  be  remarked  that  in 
times  of  crisis  the  small  industries  have  more  tendency  to 
develop  than  the  larger  ones ;  employment  is  not  so 
easily  got,  and  it  is  more  sought  after  by  the  victims  of 
the  general  depression,  and  a  greater  number  of  people 
are  reduced  to  have  recourse  to  expedients.  We  need 
search  for  no  other  motives  for  the  incessant  increase  of 
so  many  poor,  out-of-door  stall-keepers.  The  outlook  at 
having  to  pass  your  life  exposed  to  the  inclemencies  of  the 
weather  without  any  really  adequate  pecuniary  compensa- 
tion can  only  be  tempting  to  such  as  are  hard  up.  And 
the  proof  of  this  is  that,  with  two  or  three  exceptions,  the 
fifty  stall-keepers  who  have  been  successively  installed  on 
the  quays  during  the  ten  years  belong  to  almost  every 
profession,  administrative  or  commercial,  but  not  one  of 
them — will  it  be  believed  ? — has  had  any  previous  know- 
ledge of  bookselling  or  the  allied  trades. 

There  are  not  a  few  who  think  that  the  second-hand 
bookseller  has  no  need  of  special  knowledge  and  little 
need  of  money  to  begin  with ;  some  even  think  the  amount 
of  work  required  is  hardly  worth  mention,  and,  imbued 
with  these  ideas,  people  come  from  all  parts  applying  for 
a  stall-space,  obtaining  it,  and  regretting  bitterly  after  a 
time  that  they  did  not  seek  another  channel  in  their 
terrible  struggle  with  life. 

After  being  the  delight — like  the  bleus  in  the  army — of 
the  unscrupulous  booksellers  who  have  made  a  good  thing 
out  of  their  ignorance,  they  at  length  find  out  their  mis- 
take ;  they  see  their  books  sell  very  slowly  without  their 
being  able  to  meet  their  daily  expenditure  or  keep  up  their 
stock  by  attending  the  sales.  Then  they  take  a  juster 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER 


187 


view  of  the  difficulties  of  the  position,  and,  if  they  are  ill 
adapted  for  adversity,  become  hot  and  strong  revolu- 
tionists, nursing  unjust  resentment  against  their  colleagues 
and  the  pleasant  passers-by  who  buy  books  at  other  stalls 
than  theirs. 

Before  the  repeal  of  the  loi  sur  la  librairie  and  the  sup- 
pression of  the  indentures  the  bookstall  men  were  under 
the  same  vexatious  regulations  as  the  booksellers  in  the 
shops. 

To-day  it  matters  not  to  what  class  or  trade  they  belong 
in    order   to    secure    a    stall, 
which  they  proceed  to  do  in 
this  way  : 

They  send  to  the  Prefet  of 
the  Seine,  on  loose  paper,  an 
application  generally  couched 
in  the  following  terms  : 

'  MONSIEUR  LE  PREFET, 

'  I  have  the  honour  to  solicit  of  your  kindness  the 
grant  of  space  for  a  bookstall  on  the  quays. 

'  The  grounds  on  which  I  seek  this  favour  are,'  etc.  (and 
then   follow   the    details    of    the 
applicant's  character,  experience 
and  position). 

In  about  a  fortnight's  time  the 
applicant,  if  successful,  receives 
from  the  municipal  office  of  the 
mairie  of  the  Seventh  Arrondisse- 
ment,  or  from  that  of  the  Fourth, 
if  his  application  refers  to  the 
right  bank,  a  notice  to  present 
himself,  accompanied  by  an 
authority  from  the  prefecture  of  police,  at  the  said  mairie 
between  two  o'clock  and  four  o'clock  on  business  that 


i88  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


concerns  him.  The  authority  given  by  the  Prefecture  of 
Police  is  the  same  as  that  given  to  hawkers  who  sell 
newspapers  and  other  printed  matter  on  the  boulevards 
and  in  the  streets.  It  is  given,  on  proof  of  identity,  by 
the  head  of  the  Second  Bureau,  M.  May. 

Ten  years  ago  the  authority  was  given  under  the  follow- 
ing conditions,  and  we  think  they  still  hold  good  : 

1.  To  sell  only  at  a  fixed  price,  arranging  the  books  in 
boxes  bearing  an  indication  of  the  uniform  price  of  the 
volumes  contained  in  each  box.     It  is  understood  that 
the  figure  indicating  this  price  is  to  be  so  placed  as  to  be 
well  in  view. 

2.  To  keep  exactly  to  the  spot  assigned  by  the  Prefet 
of  the  Seine,  and  to  occupy  it  in  person. 

3.  To  return  all  books  belonging  to  public  establish- 
ments,   and    those   offered    by    unknown    or     suspicious 
persons,  and  to  forward  them  within  tw7enty-four  hours 
to  the  commissary  of  police  of  the  district. 

4.  To   produce   the   present    permission  whenever  re- 
quired to  do  so  by  any  officer  of  the  administration,  or 
anyone  authorized  to  demand  it. 

5.  To  give  notice  of  every  change  of  residence  within 
the  following  week  on  pain  of  the  immediate  withdrawal 
of  the  permission. 

In  addition  to  this  it  is  expressly  forbidden — 

1.  To  sell  or  expose  for  sale  books  or  pamphlets  con- 
trary to  good  manners  or  public  order. 

2.  To  sell  new  books,  to  keep  a  shop,  and  to  carry  on 
any   other   industry   than   that  specified  in  the  present 
permission. 

3.  To   expose   for   public    sale    any    new    pamphlets, 
writings,  engravings,  medals,  prints,  drawings,  emblems, 
or  lithographs,  without  the  authority  first  obtained,  con- 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER         189. 

formably  to  the  Police  Ordinance  of  the  2Oth  of  June,  1849, 
and  to  the  decree  of  the  lyth  of  February,  1852,  and  a 
previous  deposit  in  duplicate  with  the  Controller-General 
at  the  Prefecture  of  Police. 

4.  To  lend,  give,  hire  out,  or  sell  this  permission,  the 
title  to  which  will  be  considered  as  lapsed  if  at  any  time 
it  remains  for  a  month  without  being  used. 

The  present  permission  can  be  renewed  from  year  to 
year. 

The  grantee  must  present  it  during  the  month  of 
January  in  every  year  for  the  said  renewal. 

The  permission  will  be  revoked  the  same  day  that  any 
failure  is  made  in  complying  with  any  of  the  conditions 
under  which  it  is  granted. 

Furnished  with  this  paper  and  his  authority,  the  book- 
stall man  presents  himself  at  the  mairie  of  the  Seventh 
or  Fourth  Arrondissement,  and  there  an  official  known  as 
a  piqueur,  who  is  specially  attached  to  the  service  of  the 
quays,  puts  a  plan  before  him  and  asks  him  to  choose 
among  the  spaces  that  are  vacant.  When  he  has  decided 
on  this,  the  piqueur  makes  an  appointment  to  meet  him  in 
the  morning  on  the  quay  and  put  him  into  possession. 
The  object  of  this  is  that  the  piqueur  may  assure  himself 
that  the  place  taken  is  really  the  one  selected,  and  also 
that  the  new-comer  may  some  days  before  he  begins 
business  make  acquaintance  with  his  neighbours,  who  are 
cautioned  to  leave  vacant  the  space  that  while  it  was 
unclaimed  they  had  shared  between  them. 

The  spaces  allotted  are  invariably  ten  metres  in  length 
on  the  quays  when  the  stalls  succeed  each  other  without 
a  break  (that  is,  on  the  Quais  Voltaire,  Malaquais,  Conti, 
Grands  Augustins,  Saint  Michel) ;  the  spaces  are  marked 
by  black  bars  running  from  the  top4o  the  bottom  of  the 
parapet.  Between  each  place  there  is  a  space  of  two 


190 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


metres,  similarly  marked,  which  has  to  be  left  free  by  the 
stall-keeper,  to  allow  of  the  public  taking  a  rest  or  looking 
over  on  to  the  river ;  but  this  is  almost  always  shared 
between  the  stalls  in  order  to  increase  their  length  a 
little.  The  passer-by  can  always  protest  as  much  as  he 
likes,  and  take  his  rest  between  two  stalls  if  he  feels 
himself  in  a  vein  for  idyllic  verses  addressed  to  the  river 
whose  waters  are  so  much  calumniated.  But  the  boxes 


do   not  shut    out   the     ._ 
view,  and  the  Parisian 
banks  can  very  well  be 
admired   without   dis- 
arranging the  books. 

No  one  can  obtain  more  than  one  space.  A  few  stall- 
keepers,  however,  have  two  or  three,  but  these  are  taken 
in  another  name  than  theirs,  by  their  wives  or  children.] 

Since  1860,  every  bookstall-keeper  pays  to  the  town  of 
Paris  an  annual  rent  of  twenty-five  francs,  which, 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER 


191 


augmented  by  additional  centimes  and  the  stamp,  totals 
up  to  26  fr.  35.     Being  classed  as  a  broker,  he  is  in  addi- 
tion liable  to  a  license  costing  twenty-five  francs,  so  that 
his  annual  contribution  amounts  altogether  to  51  fr.  35. 
The  income  realized  by  the  possessors  of  the  boxes 

varies  according  to  the 
^,|j  .  .  position  of  the  stall  (the 
best  spaces  being  those 
facing  the  Institute,  and 
on  the  Quais  Malaquais 


and  Saint  Michel),  and,  above  all,  according  to  the  con- 
dition of  the  goods  (and  Heaven  knows  there  is  often 
great  room  for  improvement  in  that !) 

On  an  average  they  earn  from  seven  to  ten  francs  a 
day,  principally  in  the  spring  and  autumn.  In  the 
memory  of  the  bookstall  man  there  have  been  very  few  of 
his  colleagues  who  have  retired  on  a  fortune.  Those 
who  leave  their  boxes  at  the  call  of  death  are  much  more 
numerous. 

Everything  is  not  rosy  in  the  trade,  it  must  be  admitted. 


192  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

Besides  the  loss  resulting  from  the  sale  of  volumes  below 
the  cost  price,  or  remaining  unsold,  and  without  speaking 
of  the  winter  season,  with  its  chances  of  colds  and 
bronchitis  to  run  away  with  the  takings  (if  the  whole  day 
is  not  entirely  lost  by  the  bad  weather),  the  police  often 
take  a  glance  into  the  boxes  in  search  of  stolen  books  or 
interdicted  publications,  and  this  means  another  source 
of  loss  to  these  unhappy  traders.  It  is  only  fair  to  add 
that  the  stall-keepers  are  cautious  by  profession,  and 
rarely  display  such  works  as  are  considered  immoral ; 
these  they  reserve  for  particular  purchasers,  certain  eroio- 
bibliomaniacs  whom  they  know  well  and  with  whom  they 
only  trade  with  closed  doors. 

And  now  let  us  yield  ourselves  to  the  demonstrative 
joys  of  ingenious  statistics. 

In  his  Voyage  Litt/raire  sur  les  Quais  in  1864,  M.  A. 
Fontaine  de  Resbecq  stated  that  there  were  sixty-eight 
bookstall-keepers  on  the  quays  of  Paris,  from  the  Pont 
Royal  to  the  Pont  Marie  and  on  the  Quai  de  la  Tournelle  ; 
he  discovered,  but  with  regrettable  mistakes  in  his  calcula- 
tion, 1,020  boxes,  containing  70,000  volumes  altogether; 
that  is  to  say,  the  value  of  three  fairly  important  provincial 
libraries. 

Herewith — some  twenty-eight  years  later — is  our  result 
after  a  personal  investigation  : 

LEFT  BANK. 

Quai  d'Orsay,  2  stall-keepers,  28  boxes. 

Quai  Voltaire,  23  stall-keepers,  205  boxes. 

Quai  Malaquais,  30  stall-keepers,  360  boxes  (including  i  stall  of 

pasteboards  and  i  stall  of  spectacles). 
Quai  Conti,  24  stall-keepers,  282  boxes  (including  i  stall  of  engraved 

stones,  i  of  coins,  and  i  of  postage  stamps). 
Quai  des  Grands  Augustins,  36  stall-keepers,  360  boxes  (including  3 

stalls  of  coins  and  2  of  antiquities). 
Quai  Saint  Michel,  17  stall-keepers,  142  boxes. 


PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL-KEEPER         193 

Quai    Montebello,   5  stall-keepers,  25   boxes  (including  i  stall  of 

pictures  and  curiosities). 
Pont  Sully,  2  stall-keepers  (one  of  whom  sells  bric-a-brac). 

RIGHT  BANK. 

Quai  de  1'Hotel-de-Ville,  6  stall-keepers,  72  boxes, 
Quai  de  Gesvres,  3  stall-keepers,  38  boxes. 
Quai  de  la  Megisserie,  2  stall-keepers,  19  boxes. 
Quai  du  Louvre,  4  stall-keepers,  71  boxes. 
Quai  des  Tuileries,  i  stall-keeper,  16  boxes. 

CITY. 
Quai  des  Orfevres,  i  stall-keeper,  16  boxes. 

Total :  156  stall-keepers  and  1,636  boxes.  Without 
reckoning  the  few  bookstall  men  who  encroach  on  the 
vacant  spaces,  we  have  thus,  on  allowing  10  metres  for 
each  stall,  a  length  of  1,560  metres  of  parapet,  covered 
with  books  contained  in  1,636  boxes.  Each  box  contains 
on  the  average  60  volumes,  and  this  gives  us  97,260 
volumes  exposed  clearly  to  the  public  gaze  in  1892. 

Averaging  the  takings  of  the  bookstall  men  at  ten 
francs  a  day,  which  cannot  be  far  wrong,  we  find  that  the 
156  stall-keepers  take  1,560  francs  a  day,  or  569,400  a 
year  —  more  than  half  a  million.  Are  not  statistics 
sublime  ! 


THE  TRADE  IN  BOOKS 


ON    THE    PARIS    QUAYS. 

JVIDENTLY  this  vastly  comprehensive  title 
must  be  limited  by  the  sub-title,  '  On  the 
Paris  Quays.' 

Here,  again,  we  cannot  do  better  than 
avail  ourselves  of  the  information  afforded 
by  one  or  two  of  our  friends  of  the  parapets. 
For  as  a  judge  of  jewellery  there  is  only  M.  Josse,  and  if 
we  must  trust  someone,  it  is  '  Robert  in  the  things  in 
which  he  experiments ';  at  least,  so  says  Moliere  and  the 
wisdom  of  nations. 

Besides,  we  know  that  our  confidence  is  not  blind.  We 
also  have  had  some  experience,  sufficient  at  least  to 
check  the  statements  (which  interest  and  prejudice  might 
occasionally  falsify)  of  those  in  the  trade,  to  add  a  few 
features  collected  by  personal  observation,  and  also  to 


THE  TRADE  IN  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS      195 


submit  the  question   in  its  entirety,  in   detail  and  as  a 
whole,  to  our  very  free  and  enlightened  judgment. 

The  trade  on  the  quays  would,  it  is  generally  admitted 
by  those  interested,  be  sufficiently  remunerative  if  the 
stall-keepers  had  Jgreater  facilities  for  replenishing  then 
stock  of  books.  The  quays  are  frequented  by  people  to 
whom  books  are  necessary  tools  no  less  than  objects  of 
passionate  curiosity  ;  and  if  a  stall  were  always  stocked 
with  interesting  books  the  proprietor  would  find  his  daily 
receipts  enough  to  yield  him  a  '  reasonable  '  income.  We 
shall  see  further  on  to  what  the  modesty  of  his  wants  and 
ambition  reduces  the  meaning  of  this  epithet. 

Unfortunately,  this  is  not  the  case.  Many  stall-keepers 
sell  nothing,  and  are  miserable  because  they  find  nothing 
good  to  buy.  The  boxes  are  fed  by  purchases  on  the 
quay,  or  by  purchases  at  the  houses  of  the  vendors,  or  at 
the  public  sales. 

Of  these  three  modes,  the  purchase  at  the  house  is  the 
most  profitable,  and  is,  con- 
sequently, that  which  the 
bookstall-keeper  prefers.  This 
purchase  is  accidental;  gene- 
rally it  is  the  sick  or  those 
dying  without  heirs  who  sell 
their  little  library,  for  peri- 
odical sales  are  of  the  rarest. 
Happy  is  he  who  has  the 
studies  of  five  or  six  amateurs 
or  men  of  letters  to  clear  occasionally  of  the  waste  and 
overflow !  He  can  renew  his  stock,  and  by  the  side  of 
old  books  of  interest  can  place  alluring  novelties,  giving  a 
variety  to  his  stall  which  attracts  and  retains  the  passer- 
by. 

This  chance  does  not  fall  to  everybody.  The  place 
occupied,  the  look  of  the  boxes,  and,  above  all,  the  general 


196  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


appearance  of  the  dealer,  have  enormous  influence  in  the 
formation  of  a  circle  of  sellers. 

The  persons  who  desire  to  sell,  either  by  bringing  their 
books  themselves,  or  by  making  an  appointment  with  the 
dealer  at  their  houses,  generally  arrive  on  the  quay  by  a 
bridge,  or  by  one  of  the  main  roads  on  the  left  bank  which 
open  on  to  the  bridges.  The  corner  stalls  are,  therefore, 
the  most  frequently  visited  by  those  who  have  books  to 
sell.  Let  us  add  that  it  is  easier  to  speak  privately  at  the 
end  of  a  stall,  and  that  people  who  come  to  trade  do  not 
care  to  take  the  public  into  their  confidence,  and  be 
obliged  to  carry  on  their  bargaining  within  earshot  of  the 
neighbouring  stall-keepers  or  the  loungers  who  are  on  the 
alert  for  information  as  they  explore  the  boxes. 

It  is  noticeable  that  some  people  do  not  care  to  sell  but 
to  dealers  who  look  simple  and  seedy.  They  imagine  they 
can  obtain  a  better  price  from  a  man  of  simple  mind  whom 
misery  has  made  timid.  This  is  the  reasoning  of  a  very 
poor  psychologist,  and  the  result  is  almost  always  a  de- 
ception. The  dealer  who  looks  a  simpleton  is  most  fre- 
quently doubly  wide  awake,  and  he  who  clothes  himself 
in  rags  has  often  several  good  bank-notes  in  his  greasy 
wallet.  In  any  case  he  knows  their  strength  and  how  to 
use  them.  He  knows  how  to  beat  down  a  price  with  a 
patience  that  nothing  can  shake,  and  a  passivity  and 
inertia  which  ends  in  the  customer  abandoning  the 
struggle  in  discouragement  and  disgust.  These  men  are 
never  carried  away  by  their  feelings,  never  have  those 
outbursts  of  frankness  and  generosity  to  which  dealers  of 
a  more  ardent  temperament  and  brighter  disposition  are 
always  more  or  less  subject. 

For  others  the  stall  itself  is  the  touchstone  which  will 
reveal  in  the  dealer  the  buyer  they  seek. 

Observant  and  logical,  they  proceed  with  method,  ex- 
amining the  dominant  character  of  each  stall,  and  address- 


THE  TRADE  IX  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS     197 


ing  themselves  to  the  stall-keeper  whose  particular  class 
of  books  corresponds  most  closely  with  those  they  wish 
to  sell.  If  they  are  not  mistaken  in  their  opinion  they 
find  a  dealer  ready  to  buy  books  he  can  sell,  and  conse- 
quently to  pay  well  for  them.  The  secret  is  to  drop  the 
right  book  in  the  right  place. 

The  journalists  and  critics  to  whom  the  publishers 
always  send  copies  of  new  books  have  all  one  or  two 
special  booksellers  who  periodically  disencumber  them  of 
the  heap  of  new  volumes,  often  uncut,  and  now  and  then 
ornamented  with  dedications  which  some  of  them  have 
not  even  the  delicacy  to  tear  out  or  obliterate.  The 
advantage  formerly  presented  by  this  branch  of  trade  no 
longer  exists  except  in  the  case  of  books  of  medicine,  law, 
science  or  technology.  These  are  sure  to  sell,  and  at 
fairly  good  prices.  But  verse  and  current  literature  are 
worthless  as  far  as  the  bookstall  man  is  concerned.  This 
is  not  the  place  to  dilate  on  the  considerations  that  affect 
the  price  of  books  ;  but  there  are  many  volumes  published 
at  3  fr.  50  which  are  offered  on  all  sides  and  fail  to  find 
purchasers  at  8  or  10  sous,  and  which  have  to  be  bought 
for  nothing  to  yield  any  profit  at  all.  The  bookstall  man 
who  would  formerly  take  the  lot  at  prices  varying  from 
75  centimes  to  i  fr.  25  a  volume,  now  goes  carefully 
through  the  books  one  by  one,  and  when  he  has  put  aside 
those  by  Zola,  Ohnet,  Daudet,  Maupassant  and  three  or 
four  other  authors  of  secondary  importance  according  to 
the  tastes  of  his  customers,  he  will  offer  so  much — very 
little,  after  all — and  declare  that  he  will  take  the  others 
thrown  into  the  bargain.  There  is  discussion,  resistance, 
refusal,  trial  elsewhere,  and  after  a  loss  of  time  and 
patience  in  three  or  four  similar  essays,  a  total  surrender 
is  made  to  the  last  man  called  in,  and  he  takes  the  lot. 
Herein  is  a  small  source  of  revenue  to  men  of  letters,  who 
are  all  more  or  less  reviewers ;  and  a  trifling  profit  to  the 


198 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


bookstall-keepers,  who  prefer  to  pay  for  a  book  25  sous 
and  sell  it  for  35,  rather  than  buy  it  for  20  centimes  and 
not  sell  it  at  all. 

We  may  class  among  the  house  purchases  the  transac- 
tions of  a  few  bookstall-keepers  who  pay  regular  visits  to 
the  waste-paper  dealers  in  the  vicinity. 

Some  years  ago  one  of  these  dealers,  M.  Trouillet,  whose 
warehouse  was  in  the  Rue  de  Furstemberg,  did  a  consider- 
able trade  with  the  stall-keepers. 

M.  Trouillet  bought  in  small  quantities  everywhere: 
in  private  houses,  in  the  public  offices,  in  the  colleges  ;  he 
also  frequented  the  public  sales,  and  every  day  waggons 
of  books  were  unloaded  at  his  offices.  He  divided  them 
into  three  parts  :  the  papers  first,  which  went  to  be  torn 

up ;  then  the  saleable  books, 
the  best  of  which  were 
ranged  on  shelves  and  sold 
at  so  much  each  ;  then  the 
small  fry,  which  were  sold  at 
fifty  centimes  a  kilogramme. 
M.  Trouillet  is  dead,  and  no 
one  has  taken  his  place. 

Anotherwaste- 
paper  merchant 
named  Martin, 
in  the  Rue  Ma- 
zarine, still  re- 
ceives the  visits 
of  the  stall- 
keepers,  who  find 
occasional  trea- 
sures in  an  inex- 
tricable and  picturesque  jumble  of  things  without  a 
name. 

An  expert  from  the  Hotel  des  Ventes,  M.  Guil,  has  or 


THE  TRADE  IN  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS     199 

had  in  the  Rue  Serpente  a  store  from  which  he  supplied 
booksellers  and  the  bookstall-keepers  ;  but  the  latter  are 
not  very  anxious  to  do  business  at  a  price  which  gives 
them  no  hope  of  an  honest  profit.  It  must  not  be  for- 
gotten that  a  stall-keeper  on  the  quays  must  of  necessity 
sell  more  cheaply  than  a  bookseller  in  a  shop,  however 
humble  it  may  be. 

Many  years  ago  there  died  in  the  Rue  Bonaparte,  in 
the  house  of  the  bookseller  Leroux,   M.  le  Vicomte  de 
Lastic  Saint-Jal.     This  chip  of  the  old  rock  was  a  private 
second-hand  bookseller,  and  contrived  to  make  money  at 
the  trade.     Every  afternoon  he  took  a  turn  round  Paris, 
visiting  the  dealers  in  bric-a-brac,  the  waste-paper  mer- 
chants, the  schools,  even  the  convents,  to  which  his  name 
gave  him  admission.     He  promised  commissions  to  inter- 
mediaries, and   offered   his   services   direct   to  amateurs 
desirous  of  getting  rid  of  their  books,  whether  valuable 
or   not.     It   thus   happened    that   every   day   he   had   a 
quantity  of  fresh  books  with  him,  and  that  the  bookstall- 
keepers  visited  him  every  morning.     They  had  to  be  on 
their   guard   against   him.     Not   only  did   his  title   and 
education  have  their  effect  on  some,  but  he  knew  the  value 
of  a  book  as  well  as  any  bookseller  in  the  trade  ;  and  when 
he  saw  the  customer  well  prepared,  aglow  so  to  speak,  he 
would  ask  for  a  hundred-sous  lot,  perhaps  twenty  or  five- 
and-twenty  francs.     Nothing  was  more  difficult  than  to 
come  away  from  him  empty-handed.     Sometimes  in  order 
to  get  out  of  the  claws  of  this  worthy  man  they  would 
offer  him  an  absurd  price  for  a  book,  and  were  surprised 
to  find  him  instantly  accept  the  proposal.     But  once  they 
were    outside   they  would    invariably  discover  that  this 
ridiculous  price  was  quite  reasonable,  and  that  he  had 
succeeded  for  an  instant  in  thoroughly  misleading  them 
as  to  the  real  value  of  the  book. 

He  was  very  free  in  his  details  as  to  his  birth,  his  life, 


2OO 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


and  his  works.     He  was  pleased  to  relate  that  in  England 

he  was  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  most  learned  men  in 

France,  and  that  his  excavations  and 

the  works  he  had   originated  were 

far  superior  to  those  of  Boucher  de 

Perthes  or  the  Marquis  de  Nadaillac. 

If  the  conversation  was  pressed,  it 

would  appear  that  he  was  the  greatest 

chess-player  in  France,  and  that  at 

one  time  he  had  met  all  Paris  at  the 

Cafe   de  la  Regence.     To  listen  to 


him,  he  rendered  inestimable  services  to  those  to  whom 
he  had  the  honour  to  sell  books.  '  Had  he  not  made  the 
fortune  of  Dorbon,  then  a  bookseller  in  the  Rue  Bona- 


THE  TRADE  IN  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS    201 

parte,  and  contributed  to  that  of  Rouquette  and  Fontaine, 
without  mentioning  Morgand  ?  As  to  poor  Doumaine,  the 
military  bookseller,  it  was  too  evident  that  without  M.  de 

Lastic   he  would  never  have 
...  .^  „  fjfi.  got  out  of  difficulties.' 

Two  young  intermediaries 
are  still  of  some  use  to  the 
stall  -  keepers  in  frequenting 
the  Hotel  des  Ventes  on  their 
behalf.  They  divide  the  lots 
they  have  bought,  and  share 


them  out  among  the  stall- 
keepers  in  accordance  with 
the  preferences  they  are 
known  to  have  for  special 
kinds  of  books.  They  do 
their  work  intelligently,  and 

seek  only  a  moderate  profit,  which  they  are  always  sure 
of  obtaining,  though  the  stall-keeper  may  have  to  pay 
rather  more  than  he  is  accustomed  to.  The  arrange- 
ment is  convenient,  and  its  convenience  makes  it  pay. 


202 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


Books  offered  directly  by  private  persons  to  the  stall- 
keepers  are  rather  rare.  On  Sundays,  however,  when 
it  is  fine,  couples  may  be  seen  descending  the  Seine, 
the  woman  gaily  dressed,  her  eyes  bright,  her  mouth 
smiling,  the  man  carrying  under  his  free  arm  a  dozen 
books,  and  looking  pleased  enough  as  he  turns  towards 
the  country,  and  anxious  enough  as  he  glances  along 
the  quays.  Such  are  students,  artists,  clerks,  young  fellows 
longing  to  get  out  of  town,  and  inconveniently  out  of 
cash. 

They  may  be  fortunate  enough  to  apply  to  some  worthy 
fellow  in  whom  their  youth  and  gaiety  awake  sweet 
memories  of  the  past ;  and  then  instead  of  taking 
advantage  of  their  haste  and  excitement  he  will  strain 
a  point,  and  reduce  his  probable  profit  by  some  twenty  or 
thirty  sous  if  he  can  in  any  way  add  to  the  pleasure  which 
the  two  lovers  are  promising  themselves. 

At  one  time  a  student  would  come  with  a  bundle  of 

books — class  books,  transla- 
tions, romances — at  the  end  of 
a  strap.  It  was  a  holiday,  per- 
haps, and  he  was  in  want  of  a 
few  sous  to  smoke  cigars  and 
drink  bocks  till  he  grew  sick 
in  the  beer -saloons  of  the 
quarter.  Books  from  this 
source  are  generally  suspected ; 
and  the  prudent  stall-keeper 
would  not  fail  to  examine  them 
carefully,  and  return  them  with  a  'That  does  not  suit 
me,'  accompanied  by  a  severe  look,  should  he  discover 
the  stamp  of  a  lyce'e  or  some  other  establishment.  The 
best  thing  is  to  refuse  in  all  such  cases,  students — with 
the  exception  of  a  few  cagneiix,  carres,  or  cubes — not  being 
responsible  persons,  and  the  obligations  to  pay  at  their 


THE  TRADE  IN  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS     203 

houses  being  necessarily  a  dead  letter  as  far  as  they  are 
concerned. 

Besides,  their  chance  acquisitions  are  rarely  of  much 
good  to  the  bookstall  man,  unless  a  valuable  book  has 
slipped  into  the  bundle  through  the  ignorance  or  haste  of 
the  sellers.  But  such  a  windfall  occurs  only  once  in  a 
thousand  times.  As  a  rule  the  stall-keeper  would  not 
gain  a  living  by  buying  small  lots,  the  books  being 
difficult  of  sale,  and  those  which  have  been  lost  or  stolen 
never  realizing  the  profit  that  might  be  expected. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  not  agreeable,  even  to  a 
hardened  dealer,  to  offer  50  centimes  for  a  volume  which 
has  been  bought  new  for  3  fr.  50  or  5  francs ;  and  yet  this 
price  of  50  centimes,  which  seems  so  ridiculous  to  the 
seller,  is  often  more  than  the  real  value  to  the  bookstall 
man,  who  has  to  regulate  his  prices  at  half  what  he  can 
sell  for  at  the  very  most.  This  buying  at  half-price  is  a 
law  to  him. 

If,  for  instance,  we  take  the  average  sum  he  realizes 
during  a  year,  we  shall  find  it  work  out  at  15  francs  a  day 
at  the. most.  By  buying  at  half  this,  his  gross  profit  is 
7  fr.  50,  from  which  we  must  deduct  from  i  fr.  50  to 
•2.  francs  for  working  expenses.  It  is  only  just  that  he 
should  realize  enough  to  keep  the  pot  boiling ;  the  cause 
of  the  plethora  in  the  savings  banks  is  not  to  be  sought 
among  the  bookstall  men. 

There  remains  a  third  source  of  supply,  the  public 
sales. 

The  stall-keepers  do  not  despise  these ;  but  they  can 
only  avail  themselves  of  them  with  difficulty,  and  their 
ventures  at  them  are  small.  The  sales  en  ville  and  at  the 
Hotel  de  la  Rue  Drouot  take  place  during  the  day,  and 
consequently  those  only  can  attend  them  who  can  leave 
a  deputy  at  their  stall,  or  those  who,  in  the  hope  of  some 
fortunate  purchase,  think  it  worth  while  to  shut  up  their 


204  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

boxes  for  the  day.  And  among  them  there  are  not  many 
dogs  who  leave  the  prey  for  another. 

The  large  sales,  too,  rarely  offer  much  for  the  stall- 
keepers  to  bite  at ;  valuable  books,  catalogued,  classified, 
priced,  and  eagerly  sought  after  by  the  taste  or  vanity  of 
collectors,  are  not  in  their  line.  All  the  spare  capital  of 
most  of  them  would  hardly  amount  to  the  price  of  a  good 
copy  of  the  Chansons  of  La  Borde. 

The  sales  they  seek  are  the  quieter  ones,  with  small 
catalogues  or  no  catalogues  at  all,  in  which  the  books  are 
offered  in  parcels.  These  parcels  contain  a  good  deal  of 
waste,  no  doubt ;  there  are  many  books  in  them  that  are 
absolutely  valueless,  but  they  often  contain  two  or  three 
volumes  each  of  which  is  worth  the  money  paid  for  the 
lot. 

However  constant  a  stall-keeper  may  be  in  his  atten- 
dance at  the  sales,  he  cannot  trust  to  them  as  the  only 
means  of  replenishing  his  stock.  For  half  the  year  they 
would  fail  him  ;  during  the  season  he  would  have  to  buy 
enough  to  last  him  for  the  twelve  months.  But  very  few 
would  be  strong  enough  to  stand  such  a  lock-up  of 
capital. 

And  the  Hotel  des  Ventes  is  unapproachable  by  the 
isolated  dealer.  The  booksellers  are  too  keen  at  their 
'  revision.'  Since  Rochefort  published  the  Petits  Mystercs 
de  I'Hotel  des  Ventes,  everyone  knows  in  what  this  honest 
and  lucrative  operation  consists.  When  the  booksellers 
in  the  league  have  acquired,  by  arrangement  with  the 
man  who  does  not  bid,  the  majority  of  the  lots  at  the  very 
lowest  prices,  while  they  have  run  the  others  up  above  their 
value  at  the  expense  of  the  obstinate  amateur  or  the  trader 
who  does  not  belong  to  their  alliance,  they  meet  at  a  cafe 
or  at  some  room  specially  reserved  for  them  ;  the  booty  is 
brought  there  and  the  revision  begins.  The  books  aie 
again  put  up  to  auction  among  those  present ;  each  man 


THE  TRADE  IN  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS    205 

runs  up  the  price  of  all  books  he  wants  as  high  as  he  can, 
irrespective  of  what  they  may  have  cost  at  the  public  sale. 
When  all  is  over  the  difference  between  the  two  prices  is 
shared  amongst  the  company,  as  is  also  the  loss,  should 
there  be  any,  though  this  is  an  occurrence  of  some  rarity. 
It  follows  that  there  is  no  need  to  buy  a  single  lot  to 
share  in  the  profit :  all  that  is  necessary  is  to  be  one  of 
the  members  of  this  species  of  syndicate.  And,  in  fact, 
there  are  certain  booksellers  who  go  to  the  room  as  if  to 
their  club,  and  daily  realize  their  little  'equivalent.'  There 
is  one  stall-keeper  on  the  Quai  Malaquais,  whom  we  need 
not  name,  who  is  reported  to  be  one  of  the  most  active 
members  of  this  league,  but  he  is  certainly  an  exception. 

Revision  is  not  so  easily  practised  at  the  Bons  En/ants 
(Salles  Sylvestre),  or  at  the  Salle  Claudin  in  the  Rue 
Dauphine ;  there  books  only  are  sold.  The  sales  take 
place  in  the  evening.  The  second-hand  booksellers  come 
there  from  every  corner  of  Paris,  and  their  number  and 
the  diversity  of  their  interests  hardly  permits  of  a  league 
being  successfully  formed. 

The  sales  at  Claudin's  become  less  and  less  frequent. 
We  do  not  even  know  if  this  excellent  man,  enthusiastic 
bookseller,  and  learned  bibliographer  of  the  old  school, 
who  gave  his  name  to  the  rooms,  is  still  at  work.  In  any 
case  the  room  is  not  open  more  than  four  or  five  times  a 
year.  The  old  Maison  Sylvestre,  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants, 
is,  on  the  other  hand,  a  very  active  centre  for  book  sales, 
which  take  place  every  evening  almost  without  interrup- 
tion. Since  Messrs.  Em.  Paul,  L.  Huart  and  Guillemin, 
the  successors  of  Labitte,  Paul  and  Co.,  left  the  bookshop 
on  the  Rue  de  Lille  to  give  their  whole  attention  to  the 
Maison  Sylvestre,  the  sale-rooms,  which  were  formerly  of 
excessively  primitive  and  naked  simplicity,  have  undergone 
many  necessary  transformations.  The  arrangements,  the 
warming,  the  lighting,  are  now  what  they  ought  to  be,  and 


206  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


the  books,  which  used  to  be  spread  out  on  the  floor,  are 
on  tables  handy  for  sale  purposes  or  removal. 

The  Sylvestre  rooms  are,  as  we  have  already  said,  the 
great  meeting-place  of  the  stall-keepers,  and  our  physi- 
ognomy of  the  quays  would  be  incomplete  were  we  not  to 
include  a  few  photographic  scenes  from  them. 

Let  us  attend  the  sale  in  which  Guil,  whom  we  have 
already  mentioned,  annually  clears  out  the  remainders 


after  the  daily  skimming  of  the 
cream  by  the   stall-keepers.      M. 

Delestre,  who  shares  with  M.  Boulland  the  honour  and 
pleasure  of  acting  as  auctioneer  at  the  Sylvestre  sales, 
wields  the  hammer  this  evening.  Guil  naturally  acts  as 
expert.  The  company  is  not  very  large,  and  consists 
entirely  of  the  poorer  stall-keepers.  The  others  are  on  the 
first-floor,  where  the  room  has  a  better  assortment. 

'Come,  gentlemen!'  shouts  the  expert,  'we  are  going 
to  begin.     We  will  sell  you  a  considerable  number  of 


THE  TRADE  IN  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS    207 

pamphlets  and  damaged  volumes ;  look  at  those  in  that 
corner  over  there.  I  want  thirty  francs.  You  will  bid, 
will  you  not,  Chevalier  ?' 

'  I  will  bid  three  francs,'  says  Chevalier  impassively. 

'  Well,  gentlemen,  the  bid  is  three  francs,'  says  the 
auctioneer. 

'  Fifty.' 

'  Four.' 

'  Fifty.' 

'  Come,  gentlemen,  there  are  at  least  150  kilos  of 
paper.' 

'  Five.' 

1  Fifty.' 

'  They  are  worth  more  than  that.  Come,  Leon,  there 
is  something  good  for  you  in  that  lot.' 

'  Come,  five  fifty  for  Leon  ?' 

'  Never  in  my  life.' 

'  Four  francs,'  says  Grand  jean. 

'  Come,  gentlemen,  no  joking  ;  we  are  at  five  fifty.' 

'  No  !  no  !  five  francs  for  me.' 

'  Who  said  five  fifty  ?  Anybody  ?  Well,  gentlemen, 
does  anybody  say  more  ?  Are  you  agreed  ?  Gone,  five 
francs,  Chevalier.' 

And  Chevalier  observes,  with  a  chuckle,  *  There  is  more 
than  ten  francs'  worth  of  paper.' 

But  the  sale  has  to  proceed,  and  the  corner  must  be 
cleared.  The  biddings  are  now  heavier.  Listen  ! 

'  We  are  selling  three  parcels  of  books,  about  forty 
volumes  in  each  ;  all  good  authors,  gentlemen.' 

'  Don't  mention  it !' 

'  Come  !  six  francs  ?' 

'  Twenty  sous.' 

The  expert  is  indignant. 

'  I  would  bid  thirty  sous  !'  he  exclaims.  '  Come,  gentle- 
men. I  will  bid  i  fr.  50.  Who  will  better  that  ?  Will 


208 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


no  one  go  above  i  fr.  50  ?  Come,  gentlemen,  120 
volumes  for  i  fr.  50.  Jules,  undo  a  parcel;  they  have 
not  seen  them.' 

'  Yes,  yes.     Don't  undo  them  !' 

'Undo  them!' 


1  Don't  un- 
do them  1' 

'  S  ilence, 
gentlemen  ;  I 
cannot  hear 
the  biddings.' 

'  There  are 
none.' 

'  Ah  !  there 
is  M.Clarisse; 


two     francs    for    M. 

Clarisse,  eh  ?' 
'  How  many  parcels  ?' 
'  Three  —  120  volumes.' 
'  It  is  too  dear.' 
'  Gone  !—  i  fr.  50,  M.  Guil.' 
The  expert  is  sold,  and  smiles  bitterly. 


THE  TRADE  IN  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS     209 


'  We  will  now  sell  six  parcels,  also  forty  volumes  each, 
all  good  authors.' 

'  Twenty  sous.' 

'  Well,  gentlemen,  are  they  not  worth  a  franc  ?' 

'  Well,  yes  ;  two  francs.' 

'  Fifty.' 

'  Hundred  sous.' 

It  is  Ernest  who  has  entered,  and  in  front  of  the  pile  of 
books  made  this  marvellous  bid. 

The  lot  is  his. 

And  so  it  will  continue  until  the  close.  Sometimes  the 
parcels  of  forty  volumes  will  go  as  low  as  ten  sous,  some- 
times they  will  rise  as  high  as  four  or  five  francs  on  the 
arrival  of  a  few  stall-keepers  who  have  their  day's  takings 
to  buy  with. 

At  the  end  of  the  sale  the  total  will  amount  to  150 
francs  or  thereabouts  for  120  lots,  containing  some  4,000 
volumes. 

The  sale  is  over ;  the  elect  tie  up  their  bundles,  and 
then  go  up  to  the  first-floor  to  take  a  turn  in  Room  No.  i. 

Then  the  scene  changes  :  the  bookseller  element  is  to 
the  fore ;  booksellers  of  little  importance  nevertheless,  for 
the  sale  is  still  in  lots,  and  the  amateurs  finding  nothing  to 
do  have  left  the  field  clear  for  the  dealers. 

At  the  invasion  of  the  stall-keepers  from  below  there  is 
an  uproar.  Bloch  suddenly  pulls  away  the  chair  from 
Girard,  who  sits  down  suddenly  on  the  floor.  The 
expert,  M.  Paquet,  laughs,  and  waits  until  silence  is 
restored,  to  put  on  the  table  a  parcel  containing,  accord- 
ing to  him,  as  many  marvels  as  volumes.  Each  volume  is 
announced  separately,  and  the  bidding  begins. 

But  here  the  bidding  is  fast  and  furious  ;  one  would 
imagine  they  were  around  a  board  of  green  cloth.  The 
bids  go  up,  up ;  and  the  forty  volumes  which  downstairs 
would  have  fetched  ten  sous  here  reach  ten  francs. 


210  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

The  sales  by  catalogue  attract  a  more  serious  and  less 
noisy  crowd.  Sometimes,  however,  they  degenerate 
into  a  farce,  as  at  Dr.  Legrand  du  Saulle's  sale,  for 
instance. 

It  seemed  on  that  occasion  as  though  a  gale  of  folly 
had  swept  down  on  the  library  of  the  famous  mad  doctor, 
and  struck  madness  into  the  company. 

The  wind  was  raised  by  the  agency  of  M.  Fontaine. 

He  was  unfamiliar  with  the  Bons  Enfants,  and 
announced  that  all  the  lots  purchased  must  be  paid  for 
immediately — which  is  never  done,  for  the  payments  are 
made  at  the  close  of  the  sale. 

Sometimes  the  buyers  ask  for  an  account,  which  the 
auctioneer  never  refuses,  although  it  is  equivalent  to  a  few 
weeks'  credit. 

This  declaration  gave  rise  to  a  murmur  among  the 
audience,  which  foreboded  a  storm. 

The  first  four  or  five  lots  were  knocked  down,  and  the 
cashier,  anxious  to  obey  his  orders,  and  seeing  nothing 
coming,  asked  for  the  money. 

'  M.  Girard  !     Three  francs,  if  you  please.' 

'What  is  the  matter?' 

'  Three  francs,  if  you  please.' 

'  I  will  pay  at  the  end  of  the  sale.' 

M.  Fontaine,  with  the  air  of  a  president  of  assizes, 
remarks  : 

'  Sir,  it  is  understood  here  that  everybody  is  on  a 
footing  of  equality,  and  therefore  I  beg  you  will  pay  at 
once.' 

'  That  is  ridiculous,  sir.' 

'  Sir,  do  not  insult  me,  or  I  will  have  you  put  out.' 

Hilarity  begins. 

Fontaine,  perceiving  hostility  in  the  air,  resumes  his 
discourse. 

'  Gentlemen,  if  I  ask  you  to  pay  up  at  once,  it  is  not 


THE  TRADE  7.V  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS    211 


that  I  doubt  most  of  you,  whom  I  know,  but  because 
there  are  others  whom  I  do  not  know.  That  is  why  I 
repeat  that,  with  the  sole  object  of  putting  you  all  on  a 
footing  of  equality,  I  must  ask  you  to  pay  at  once.' 

'Can  you  give  us  an  account  ?' 

'We  can,  M.  Marescq.' 

'  How  much  do  I  owe  ?' 

'  Six  francs  fifty.' 

'  There  is  a  thousand  francs.' 

The  room  roars.     The  auctioneer  bites  his  lips. 


. 

- 

, 


'  We  will  give  you  the  change  at  the  close  of  the  sale, 
Monsieur  Marescq.' 

'Not  at  all.     I  want  it  now.' 

At  this  moment  a  thick  smoke  fills  the  room. 

'  Chevalier,  there  is  something  burning  here.  See  what 
it  is.' 

They  look  and  discover  nothing.  They  open  the 
windows.  The  smoke  disappears,  and  the  shivering 
company  proceed  with  the  bidding. 


212  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

'  Who  has  hidden  my  cuiller  ?' 

At  this  question,  asked  in  a  tone  of  anguish,  the  whole 
room  goes  into  fits. 

The  cuiller  or  ladle  is  a  wooden  bowl,  used  in  certain 
bazaars  to  collect  payments  at  a  distance. 

During  the  hour  the  sale  has  been  open,  not  ten  articles 
have  been  sold. 

However,  silence  is  apparently  restored,  and  the  expert 
hazards  another  lot. 

The  smoke  recommences  thicker  than  ever.  Some  of 
the  crowd  are  seriously  alarmed,  others  are  shaking  with 
smothered  laughter. 

There  is  another  search,  but  nothing  is  found.  At  last 
a  new  arrival  shows  Chevalier  a  mass  of  paper  alight  in 
the  passage,  which  is  being  poked  about  so  as  to  give  much 
or  little  smoke  as  required. 

And  now  a  loud  shouting  is  heard ;  Chevalier,  the 
porter  of  the  room,  is  fighting  with  Belin,  the  book- 
seller. 

'  What  is  the  matter,  gentlemen  ?' 

Chevalier  roars,  while  Belin  exclaims  in  the  voice  of  a 
schoolboy  who  '  sneaks  '  : 

'  M'sieur,  he  says  I  hid  the  cuiller.' 

Here  those  who  are  weak  in  the  lungs  have  to  run  out- 
side to  breathe. 

In  a  feeble  way  the  sale  continues. 

A  lot  is  knocked  down  to  an  unknown. 

'  Three  francs  to  Monsieur ' 

'  I  will  pay.' 

'  That  is  nothing  to  do  with  it.     Your  name  ?' 

'  I  will  pay.' 

Hereupon  the  crier  thinks  he  overhears  the  name,  and 
says,  '  M.  Ompet.' 

'  Certainly  not !'  says  the  impatient  auctioneer,  amid 
another  burst  of  merriment.  'Your  name,  sir  !' 


THE  TRADE  IN  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS    213 

The  bidder  is  silent,  while  an  unknown  voice  squeaks 
out,  *  M.  Lavigne.' 

'  M.  Lavigne !' 

And  on  the  list  is  entered  the  name  of  M.  Lavigne 
against  the  lot  bought  by  M.  Dancourt. 

Suddenly  there  is  a  disputed  bid. 

'  It  is  mine  !'  says  Chevalier. 

'Not  at  all.  I  bid  2  fr.  50,'  says  Espagne.  Then, 
thinking  better  of  it,  'Oh  !  I  will  leave  it  with  you.' 

!  No,  no,  I  leave  it  to  you.' 

'  Ah,  come,  gentlemen,  are  we  here  to  amuse  ourselves  ? 
Let  us  get  on.' 

Oh,  the  innocence  of  auctioneers  !  The  worthy  man 
suspected  nothing  ! 

But  he  could  not  help  doing  so  before  long,  for  at  eleven 
o'clock  the  catalogue,  which  contained  160  lots,  had  not 
been  got  through. 

When  a  stall-keeper,  at  a  public  sale  or  otherwise,  has 
bought  a  lot  of  books,  he  examines  them  at  home,  and  if 
he  understands  his  trade,  proceeds  as  follows.  He  care- 
fully puts  aside  the  books  which  appear  to  be  of  the  kind 
that  suits  the  bookseller  with  whom  he  has  dealings. 
Then  he  sorts  out  the  rest  according  to  the  prices  he  has 
paid  for  them,  so  as  to  fill  up  the  vacancies  as  they  occur 
in  his  priced  boxes.  The  volumes  put  aside  for  the  book- 
sellers are  not  marked.  They  are  taken  to  the  shop,  or  if 
a  visit  is  expected  from  the  bookseller,  they  are  put  on 
one  side  on  the  quay  until  he  comes.  The  price  is  then 
agreed  upon,  and  the  bargaining  never  takes  long.  With 
the  exception  of  books  out  of  print  or  books  of  the  past, 
which  are  subject  to  much  variation  in  value,  the  book- 
seller generally  pays  from  fifty  to  sixty  per  cent,  under  full 
price. 

This  percentage  is  not  willingly  accepted  by  outsiders, 


214  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

who  are  always  eager  to  keep  the  market  price  as  high  as 
possible;  and  hence  the  preference  given  to  the  book- 
sellers by  the  stall-keepers,  and  the  reason  why  a  good 
book  never  remains  long  on  the  parapets. 

The  books  not  taken  by  the  book-shops  go  to  fill  up  the 
gaps  in  the  boxes.  Some  stall-keepers  have  only  boxes  at 
various  prices,  and  mark  their  books  in  pencil  inside.  It 
does  not  appear  that  this  system  increases  the  chances  of 
sale.  A  book  will  remain  for  months  in  a  box  of  various 
prices,  that  would  go  in  a  day  if  it  were  marked  in  plain 
figures,  even  at  the  price  originally  asked.  The  customer 
likes  to  know  at  once  what  he  is  expected  to  pay  if  he 
finds  anything  that  suits  him  in  the  box  he  is  examining. 
It  is  simply  annoying,  to  say  nothing  of  the  loss  of  time,  to 
have  to  open  every  volume  to  see  what  you  are  expected 
to  give  for  it. 

This  is  not  all.  There  is  a  descending  scale  down 
which  every  unsold  book  must  go,  to  the  disgust  of  the 
stall-keeper.  But  why  ?  Is  it  worth  while  to  keep  the 
higher-priced  boxes  full  of  unsaleables  rather  than  sacrifice 
the  expected  profit,  and  perhaps  lose  everything  ?  The 
truth  is  that  a  book  which  remains  for  a  week  in  a 
fifty-centime  box  will  be  down  to  twenty-five  centimes 
next  week,  and  to  ten  the  week  after.  The  more  obstinate 
the  stall-keeper,  the  more  the  book  goes  down,  until  it 
becomes  quite  unsaleable.  By  selling  quickly,  however, 
besides  realizing  money  to  work  with,  room  is  made  for 
another  volume  which  may  sell  quite  as  quickly,  and  on 
which,  if  the  choice  has  been  judicious,  a  greater  profit  is 
possible. 

There  are  frequenters  of  the  quays — whom  we  know — 
who,  finding  a  book  that  suits  them  marked  at  too  high  a 
price,  wait  to  purchase  it  when  it  has  got  into  a  cheaper 
box.  If  it  does  not  drop  to  that,  they  will  leave  it  rather 
than  buy  it.  Some  books  are  on  sale  in  this  way  for 


THE  TRADE  IN  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS    215 


eighteen  months  and  more,  and  are  bought  as  soon  as  the 
dealer  thinks  fit  to  reduce  them. 

There  are  some  books  which  the  stall-keeper  who 
knows  what  he  is  about  will  endeavour  to  get  rid  of  as 
soon  as  possible.  These  are  the  classics  in  many  volumes, 
the  complete  works  of  Voltaire,  Rousseau,  Delille,  Laharpe, 
Anquetil's  history,  the  Encyclopedic,  collections  of  Latin 
authors  in  translations,  etc. 

Everyone  fights  shy  of  these  cumbersome  editions  of 
the  end  of  the  last  century  and  the  beginning  of  this. 
Add  to  this  the  discredit  into  which  so  many  of  these 
books  have  fallen,  and  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in 
understanding  the  desirability  of  getting  rid  of  them 
quickly  by  making  them  appear  as  bargains  to  the  eyes 
of  some  half-educated  passer-by,  the  only  person  for 
whom  these  voluminous  publications  have  now  any 
weight  or  attraction.  The  sacrifice  is  never  very 
grievous,  for  the  stall-keepers  run  no  risk  when  they 
buy  their  monuments  at  less  than  the  value  of  the  paper. 

Finally,  the  volumes  that  have  resisted  all  temptations, 
and  found  no  purchaser,  have  to  be  cleared  out  of  the 
boxes  after  a  month  or  so,  and  sold  either  to  hawkers  or 
at  the  public  sales,  or  to  the  waste-paper  merchant,  who 
takes  them  at  about  five  francs  per  100  kilos. 

At  the  auction  mart  there  is  a  special  room,  Room 
No.  16,  for  the  sale  of  these  *  nightingales.'  The  days 
reserved  for  sales  of  this  sort  are  Thursdays  and  Fridays. 
They  are  announced  under  the  heading  of  '  La  Chambre,' 
which  is  a  timely  hint  to  the  bidder  to  be  on  his  guard, 
and  not  to  trust  too  much  to  the  pompous  announce- 
ments of  M.  1'Expert ! 

But  it  happens  that,  thanks  to  the  complaisance  of  the 
auctioneer,  the  dealer  often  slips  into  a  good  room  and 
into  a  private  sale  a  lot  that  ought  by  rights  to  have  gone 
into  No.  16.  The  bidder  thinks  he  is  buying  a  lot  from 


216  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


some  dead  man's  estate,  or  some  other  sale  required  by 
law,  and  he  gets  the  refuse  of  a  stall  or  shop. 

Such  a  lot  is  called  a  'rapport.'  Books  sold  in  this 
way  often  bring  a  price  superior  to  their  real  value.  But 
generally  the  buyers  are  put  on  their  guard  by  some 
competitor  of  the  vendor,  or  by  their  own  scent,  and 
leave  the  lot  on  the  table  without  a  bid,  whereupon  the 
dealer  has  all  the  cost  of  transport  and  commission.  He 
is  foiled ;  but  that,  to  speak  frankly,  is  what  he  deserves. 

Leaving  aside  these  outlets,  which  are  not  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  trade,  and  are  always  dangerous,  to 
whom  does  the  stall-keeper  now  sell  ? 

To  this  question  our  chapter  on  the  book-hunters  gives 
a  sufficiently  authenticated  and  detailed  reply.  We  need 
only  add  a  few  words  as  to  the  amateur,  who  continues  to 
be  the  special  providence  and  the  cash-box  of  the  book- 
stall man.  Ask  him,  and  he  will  tell  you  that  he  depends 
on  the  amateur  for  his  livelihood. 

The  amateur,  the  real,  the  genuine,  is  at  the  same  time 
his  terror.  He  recognises  him  afar ;  his  overcoat,  his 
high  hat,  his  decoration,  his  spectacles,  his  age,  which 
varies  between  fifty  and  seventy,  the  brand,  indefinable 
but  indelible,  with  which  institutes,  academies,  and  learned 
societies  mark  their  elect,  all  signal  to  the  stall-keeper 
that  he  is  being  approached  by  a  personage  of  terrible 
respectability.  He  comes.  He  stops  before  a  box — of 
bargains,  naturally.  Soon  there  is  only  room  for  him 
alone.  He  wanders  backwards  and  forwards ;  turns, 
turns  again,  upsets  the  whole  arrangement,  becomes 
freer  and  freer  in  his  signs  of  disappointment  and  disgust, 
and  finally  moves  off  growling :  '  It  is  absurd  !  There  is 
nothing  now  to  be  found  on  the  quay.' 

And  how  could  he  find  anything — that  is  to  say,  scarce 
editions,  valuable  books  offered  for  a  few  sous — when  the 
stall-keepers  know  the  value  of  good  books,  and  the  large 


THE  TRADE  IN  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS     217 

booksellers  are  ready  to  give  a  sufficiently  profitable  price 
for  those  that  now  and  then  reach  them  ?  The  amateurs 
•who  '  do  the  quays  '  are  thirty  years  behind  the  age. 
They  hope  to  find  in  a  fifteen-sou  box  a  book  worth  150 
francs.  They  fancy  that  stall-keepers  do  not  know  how 
to  read.  They  might  perhaps  discover  that  they  know 
quite  enough  to  make  them  keep  their  eyes  open.  The 
very  look  of  a  book,  its  date,  its  binding,  will  show  them 
quite  enough  to  make  them  put  it  on  one  side,  and  offer 
it  to  the  clerks  from  the  high-class  shops  who  daily  visit 
the  quays.  These  make  no  difficulty  about  the  real  value 
of  a  book,  and  buy  it  for  what  it  may  be  worth  their 
while.  Their  customers  are  of  a  richer  class,  a  new 
stratum  of  collectors,  very  different  from  those  of  the 
olden  times,  such  as  bankers,  stock-jobbers,  literary  men, 
and  artists,  who  have  been  lucky,  dilettante  millionaires, 
conceited  upstarts  who  would  cover  their  opulence  with 
a  varnish  of  elegance,  knowledge,  and  taste,  bibliophiles 
of  all  kinds,  more  than  one  of  whom  displays  his 
enlightened  enthusiasm  for  books  by  giving  an  order 
to  Morgand  or  Rouquette  for  a  private  gentleman's 
library  complete  ! 

Under  these  conditions,  the  stall- keeper  of  the  quays 
must  trust  for  his  every-day  trade  to  such  customers  as 
those  of  whom  we  have  sketched  the  principal  types  in  a 
former  chapter.  He  could  take  to  himself  these  couplets, 
which  a  wit  of  1820  called  Le  Libraire  :* 
'  Venez,  lecteurs,  chez  un  libraire 

De  vous  servir  toujours  jaloux  ; 

Vos  besoins  ainsi  que  vos  gouts 

Chez  moi  pourront  se  satisfaire. 

J'offre  la  Grammaire  aux  auteurs, 

Des  iicrs  a  nos  jeunes  poetes  ; 

L; 'Esprit  de  lots  aux  procureurs, 

L'Essai  sur  Vhomme  a  nos  coquettes. 

*  R de  L ,  Le  Chansonnier  des  Graces^  1820,  p.  203. 


2i8  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

1  Aux  plus  celebres  gastronomes 
Je  donne  Racine  et  Boileau  j 
La  Harpe  aux  chanteurs  du  caveau, 
Les  Nuits  d1  Young  aux  astronomes  ; 
J'ai  Descartes  pour  les  joueurs, 
Voiture  pour  toutes  les  belles, 
Lucrece  pour  les  amateurs, 
Martial  pour  les  demoiselles. 

'  Pour  le  plaideur  et  1'adversaire 
J'aurai  VAvocat  Patelin; 
Le  malade  et  le  me'decin 
Chez  moi  consulteront  Moliere  ; 
Pour  un  sexe  trop  confiant 
Je  garde  le  Berger  fidele  j 
Et  pour  le  malheureux  amant 
Je  re"serverai  la  Pucelle? 

The  stall-keepers  have  all  these  and  many  more.  The 
journalist,  Victor  Fournel,  under  the  signature  of  Berna- 
dille,  in  the  Fran$ais,  in  1879,  gave  a  tolerably  complete 
account  of  the  usual  contents  of  the  boxes.* 

As  he  was  before  us  in  the  field,  we  prefer  to  quote 
verbatim,  rather  than  give  the  result  of  our  own  observa- 
tions, which  might  seem  to  be  taken  from  his  article. 

'  Among  the  elements,'  says  Bernadille,  '  which  form 
the  essential  and  almost  invariable  stock  of  the  boxes,  are 
such  works  as  those  of  Buffon,  Voltaire,  Dulaure,  La 
Harpe  (the  Lycee  and  the  Histoire  des  Voyages),  Vertot, 
the  Jeune  Anacharsis,  the  Ecole  des  mceurs,  the  Beautes 
of  the  history  of  France,  the  history  of  Italy,  and  all 
other  possible  histories,  Madame  Dacier's  Homer,  the 
Latin  classics  translated  by  Desfontaines '  (the  Latin 
classics  of  Desfontaines  are,  we  believe,  confined  to  a 
sufficiently  bad  translation  of  Virgil ;  Bernadille  was 
probably  thinking  of  the  series  by  Panckouke  and  Nisard 

*  Le  Fran^ais,  July  22,  1879. 


THE  TRADE  IN  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS    219 


which  were  formerly  to  be  met  with), '  the  works  of  Bitaub6, 
of  Florian,  of  Marmontel,  etc. 

'  The  quay  is  the  last  place  where  you  will  often  meet 
with  the  works  of  Alexandre  Duval,  and  Madame  Cottin, 
and  M.  Bignan.  You  will  not  go  twenty  yards  without 
putting  your  hands  on  an  Espion  turc,  an  Abeille  du 
Parnasse,  or  the  Anecdotes  de  Philippe- A  uguste.  It  would 
seem  as  though  books  rose  from  their  ashes  like  the 
Phoenix.  How  many  copies  of  these  must  have  been 
printed !  Add  to  them  natural  histories,  odd  volumes 
of  different  encyclopaedias,  of  the  Univers  pittoresque,  of 
the  Mits/e  des  families,  numbers  of  the  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes,  of  the  Correspondent,  of  the  Revue  contemporaine, 
bundles  of  the  Journal  pour  tous,  of  the  Journal  des 
demoiselles,  and  many  other  similar  magazines.  The 
Lanterne,  the  Cloche,  the  Diable  a  quatre,  the  Bibliotheque 
nationals,  at  twenty-five  centimes  a  volume,  the  Portraits 
politiques  of  Hippolyte  Castille,.the  biographies  of  Eugene 
de  Mirecourt,  have  left  inexhaustible  remainders,  which 
hang  about  all  the  boxes. 

'  Nothing  is  lost ;  the  smallest  trifle  is  gathered  here. 
You  will  find  heaped  up  anyhow  the  annuals  of  all  the 
departments,  and  the  year-books  of  every  year,  old 
almanacs,  old  Salon  catalogues,  catalogues  of  provincial 
exhibitions,  guides  to  Paris,  guides  to  France,  published 
at  the  time  of  the  Restoration,  or  under  Louis- Philippe. 

'  The  stall-keepers  will  even  string  up  in  parcels  the 
feuilletons  cut  from  the  newspapers.  These  are  sold  to 
washerwomen,  butcher  boys,  and  old  women  with  baskets. 

'  Another  aliment  of  the  bookstall-man  is  the  book 
published  at  the  expense  of  the  author.  Alas  !  what 
dreams  have  gone  to  ruin  there !  What  Brises  legeres, 
what  Premiers  chants,  what  Par/urns  du  coeur,  what  Prin- 
temps  de  Vdme !  Volumes  of  fables  abound,  as  do  also 
translations  of  Horace  in  verse.  You  will  find  novels 


220  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


there  with  titles  such  as  the  Poignard  du  Vesuve,  by  the 
author  of  the  Bandits  de  la  Montague  and  the  Souterrains 
du  castel. 

1 1  say  nothing  of  the  class-books  or  prize  books  which 
troops  of  unreading  schoolboys  pour  without  intermission 
into  this  huge  common  ditch.  But  a  word  should  be 
said  regarding  the  odd  volumes,  which  are  not  always 
as  contemptible  as  might  be  thought. 

'  In  the  happy  days  when  I  was  a  book-hunter,  I  had 
collected  one  by  one  on  the  quays,  for  almost  nothing,  the 
thirty- six  volumes  of  the  Memoir  es  secrets  de  la  Republiqne 
des  lettres. 

'  Finally,  let  us  add  the  popular  works  at  low  prices,  got 
up  for  pedlars'  purposes,  generally  printed  with  the  head 
of  a  nail  on  wrapping  paper,  with  yellow  covers,  and 
illustrated  with  woodcuts  that  seem  to  have  been 
engraved  with  a  clasp-knife.  These  popular  volumes 
come  from  three  or  four  houses,  always  the  same  :  Ber- 
nardin-Bechet,  Le  Bailly,  Delarue,  the  Librairie  des  villes 
et  des  campagnes,  or  they  simply  bear  the  imprint :  Chez 
tons  les  marchands  de  nouveaute's.  Ducray-Duminil,  with 
Messieurs  Raban  and  Pecatier,  Paid  et  Virginie,  Estelle  et 
Nemorin,  furnish  the  romantic  department.  The  occult 
sciences  figure  largely :  the  Clef  des  songes,  the  Petit 
Albert,  the  Nouvel  et  infaillible  oracle  des  Dames,  the  Urne 
magique,  the  Grande  science  cabalistique,  the  Art  de  tirer  les 
cartes.  The  Langage  des  fleurs,  the  Secretaire  des  amants, 
and  the  Amours  d'Helo'ise  et  d'Abelard,  addressed  to  senti- 
mental readers ;  the  Nouveau  Cate'ckisme  poissard,  the 
Fleur  des  calembours,  the  1,200  amusements  et  recreations  de 
societe,  the  Mere  et  la  fille  Angot,  Chansonnier  nouveau,  for 
the  gay  spirits  who  want  to  shine  in  the  world ;  the 
Histoire  curieuse  de  Roqnelaure,  Piron,  even  Boccacio,  for 
the  lovers  of  the  broad ;  the  lives  of  Mandrin,  of 
Cartouche,  of  the  famous  Collet,  the  Histoire  le'ridique  de 


THE  TRADE  IN  BOOKS  ON  THE  PARIS  QUAYS    221 

Vidocq,  to  those   who    delight    in   strong    emotions    and 
gloomy  and  mysterious  adventures. 

'We  have  also  of  the  same  kind,  but  for  higher  in- 
telligences who  are  fond  of  history,  the  Tour  de  Nesle, 
I'Hojnme  an  masque  defer,  the  life  of  Jean  Bart,  the  Quatre 
sergents  de  la  Rochelle,  the  Terrible  naufrage  de  la  MSduse. 
Ah  !  there  is  a  fine  choice,  and  there  is  enough  and  to 
spare  to  form  the  mind  and  the  heart  of  the  masses.' 

And  there  is  also  enough  for  a  collection  of  curiosities 
for  anyone  interested  in  the  infinitely  small  of  the  typo- 
graphic world.  And  in  that,  finally,  lies  one  of  the 
charms  which  the  quays  still  have  for  refined  and  cultivated 
minds. 

Nunc,  ite,  Liber  est. 


APPENDIX. 

THE    BANQUET    OF   THE    BOOKSTALL    MEN. 


THE  BANQUET  OF  THE  BOOKSTALL  MEN. 

BOVE,  in  the  chapter  on  the  book-hunters, 
there  was  a  sketch  of  the  excellent  Xavier 
Marmier,  in  which  was  quoted  (p.  134) 
the  testamentary  clause  of  the  lamented 
Academician,  by  which  he  bequeathed  to 
the  stall-keepers  of  the  quays  the  sum  of 
one  thousand  francs  to  be  used  by  these  good  and  honest 
dealers  in  the  paying  for  a  good  dinner  and  spending  a 
happy  hour  devoted  to  his  memory.  This  legacy,  which 
at  the  time  made  much  noise  in  the  press,  was  duly 
devoted  to  the  purpose  under  the  management  of  M.  A. 
Choppin  d'Arnouville,  who  called  a  meeting  of  those 
interested  on  the  20th  of  November,  1892,  at  Vefour's 
restaurant. 

We  believe  it  to  be  our  duty  to  include  in  this  book  the 

15 


226  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

principal  documents  regarding  this  famous  banquet.    The 
letter  of  invitation  was  as  follows : 

On  the  2oth  of  November,  1892,  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening 
precisely,  there  will  take  place  the  banquet  given  by  M.  Xavier 
Marmier,  of  the  Academic  Franchise,  to  the  bookstall-keepers  of  the 
quays  on  the  left  bank,  under  the  presidency  of  M.  A.  Choppin 
d'Arnouville. 

This  ticket  of  admission  is  strictly  untransferable. 
A.  CHOPPIN  D'ARNOUVILLE,  X. 

President.  Delegate, 

Qua!  . 

About  ninety-five  stall-keepers  responded  to  this  invita- 
tion, and  in  one  of  Vefour's  rooms,  on  the  second-floor, 
there  could  be  seen  among  the  company :  Messieurs  Cor- 
roenne,  Duboscq,  Lefournier,  Ferroud,  Brebion,  Cheval- 
lier,  Vaissett,  Boucher,  Rigaud,  Francisque,  Carcet, 
Lecronier,  Brouward,  Letarouilly,  Emille,  Degoy,  Laporte, 
Lechanteur,  Ernouf,  Dorbon  junior,  Pelletier,  Humel, 
Tronquet,  Granjean,  Charles,  Le  Landois  senior,  Le 
Landois  junior,  Le  Landois  fils,  V.  Duverget,  Gougy 
junior,  Jorel,  Jacques,  Le  Beury,  Chariot,  Bastid,  Chretien, 
Viennet,  Blondin,  Bury,  Gibert,  Fannier,  Fauvergeot, 
etc. 

Many  of  these  amiable  bookstall-men  had  brought 
their  wives  with  them,  some  of  whom  looked  charming 
in  their  old-fashioned  dresses  and  faces  ignorant  of  the 
fine  art  of  maquillage. 

In  front  of  each  person,  on  a  little  card  in  chromo-litho- 
graphy,  was  the  following  bill  of  fare : 

BANQUET   MARMIER. 

Menu  du  diner  du  20  Novembre,  1 892. 
Hors-d'ceuvre  varies. 

POT  AGES. 

Conti  et  Brunoise. 


APPENDIX  227 


RELEVES. 

Filets  de  barbue  aux  crevets. 

Filets  de  boeuf  au  vin  de  Madere. 

Croquettes  a  la  Dauphine. 

ENTREE. 

Poulets  a  la  chasseur. 

ROT. 

Quartier  de  chevreuil  a  la  sauce  poivrade. 
Salade. 

ENTREMETS. 

Haricots  flageolets  a  la  maitre  d'hotel. 
Glaces  :  Petit  due  et  Parfait. 

DESSERT. 

Corbeilles  de  fruits. 

VI  NS. 

Madere,  Saint-Iimilion. 

Bourgogne  en  carafes,  Beaune. 

Champagne  frappe". 

Cafe"  et  cognac. 

Cordiality  (as  per  stereotyped  phrase)  was  continuous 
during  the  dinner.  At  dessert,  after  a  toast  proposed  by 
M.  Corroenne,  the  present  senior  of  the  stall-keepers, 
M.  A.  Choppin  d'Arnouville  gave  the  following  very  sym- 
pathetic address  : 

'  GENTLEMEN, 

'  It  is  a  dear  and  gentle  memory  that  presides  at 
this  reunion.  It  is  a  long  time  now  since  the  excellent 
man,  whose  friend  I  had  the  honour  to  be,  conceived  the 
idea  of  calling  you  together  after  his  death,  and  I  know 
how  much  you  appreciate  his  remembrance  of  you.  In 
the  first  place  I  wish  to  thank  you  for  the  testimony  of 


228  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

pious  respect  you  gave  to  his  mortal  remains ;  and  I  wish 
also  to  talk  to  you  about  him,  for  he  desired  not  to  be 
forgotten  on  this  occasion. 

'  Do  not  expect,  however,  that  I  shall  attempt  the 
eulogium  of  the  writer,  the  learned  man,  the  traveller, 
who  was  one  of  the  first  to  introduce  foreign  literatures 
into  our  intellectual  patrimony.  This  eulogium  will  be 
made  soon,  in  academic  form,  so  close  to  you  that  you 
will  doubtless  be  among  the  first  to  hear  its  echoes.  I 
will  permit  myself  to  offer  no  such  academic  opinion  ;  but 
what  I  know  well  is  that  in  the  works  of  M.  Marmier, 
which  amount  to  nearly  eighty  volumes,  you  will  find  no 
bad  book,  no  unhealthy  page,  no  ill-natured  line.  I  know 
also  that  the  Academic  will  heartily  applaud  his  successor, 
at  present  unknown,  when  he  tells  of  the  sterling  virtues 
of  him  whom  everybody  loved,  his  smiling  and  ever- ready 
kindness,  the  charm  of  his  conversation,  and  the  in- 
variable and  poetic  gentleness  he  showed  in  all  things. 
Gentle  as  he  had  been  in  life,  he  was  gentle  at  his  death, 
as  Bossuet  said.  He  awaited  it,  as  he  wrote  to  me  recently, 
without  desiring  it  or  fearing  it,  like  a  Christian. 

'  Age  had  come  upon  him,  and  he  had  had  to  give  up  his 
distant  journeyings.  No  longer  able  to  explore  foreign 
libraries,  he  had  formed  or  completed  his  own.  How 
much  you  helped  him  in  doing  so  !  This  library, 
considerable,  interesting,  is  to-day  for  his  native  town  a 
fortune  and  a  relic.  It  seemed  he  wished  it  never 
to  be  dispersed.  It  was  his  custom  at  night  to  have  his 
bachelor's  bed  laid  among  his  beloved  books,  and  over 
there  in  the  depths  of  Franche-Comte  it  is  still  near  his 
books  that  he  sleeps  his  last  sleep. 

'  Madame  de  Stael  said  that  she  preferred  the  stream  of 
the  Rue  du  Bac  to  the  river  Rhine.  M.  Marmier  pre- 
ferred your  quays.  Neither  the  most  attractive  land- 
scapes, nor  the  mountains  of  his  native  place,  nor  even 


APPENDIX  229 

the  tall  pines  he  loved  so  much  that  he  called  them  his 
cousins,  were  as  much  to  him  as  the  quays  of  the  left 
bank.  Every  day  he  went  along  them,  past  the  Louvre 
and  Notre  Dame  and  the  Saint  Chapelle,  giving  a  glance, 
perhaps,  at  the  popular  statue  of  the  good  king,  but  it 
was  not  that  horizon  which  drew  him  out  on  that  daily 
and  uniform  promenade ;  it  was  with  you  that  he  had  to 
do,  with  your  stalls,  your  boxes.  He  wanted  to  look  them 
over  once  more,  seeking  spoil  for  his  knowledge,  opening 
all  your  books,  old  or  new — and  so  happy  at  every  find  ! 
And  every  day  he  thus  enriched  his  library  or  his  memory. 
"  What  knowledge  I  owe  to  them !"  he  would  say,  in 
speaking  of  you;  "and  what  happy  moments  !"  Often  in 
returning  from  the  Palais  I  have  found  him  searching  or 
reading  in  the  bitter  wind,  and  if  I  ventured  to  advise  him 
to  be  careful,  he  would  reply  by  showing  me  some  little 
book  thrust  into  the  depths  of  his  pocket. 

'  He  knew  you  all.  With  his  customary  affability,  he 
asked  about  your  affairs,  your  families,  and  if  by  chance 
any  of  your  children  came  near  him,  there  was  a  caress  or 
a  sweet  for  them,  offered  with  the  same  grace  as  the 
cigarette  was  to  the  father. 

'  In  his  will  he  called  you  good  and  honest  traders  ;  that 
is  what  he  knew  of  your  professional  usages,  your  old 
customs  which  have  lasted  for  centuries.  Are  you  not 
the  successors  of  those  dealers  in  books  who  in  the  six- 
teenth and  seventeenth  centuries  had  permission  to  set  up 
their  stalls  in  the  Salle  des  Pas  Perdus,  in  the  Palais  de 
Justice  ?  Have  you  not  among  your  ancestors  the  worthy 
Achaintre,  Latinist  of  renown,  the  favourite  of  M.  de 
Fontanes,  and  who  at  the  beginning  of  this  century 
began  trading  in  books  on  the  parapets  facing  the 
Institute  ? 

'  To  all  your  traditions  M.  Marmier  would  have  recom- 
mended you  to  remain  faithful,  to  seek  no  changes,  for  he 


23o  THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 

thought,  like  a  wise  man,  that  the  best  is  occasionally  the 
enemy  of  the  good. 

'  Retain  for  your  quays,  he  would  have  told  you,  their 
original  and  unique  aspect;  those  long  parapets,  garnished 
with  books,  the  veritable  girdle  of  the  palace  of  science, 
will  always  have  an  attraction  for  the  inquisitive  and  the 
learned,  and  for  all  a  means  of  learning.  In  a  time  of 
pitiless  demolition,  keep,  gentlemen,  this  useful  souvenir 
of  the  past,  keep  this  charming  corner  of  our  old  Paris. 

'  Gentlemen,  you  will  encircle  with  your  attentions  and 
respects  the  good  and  lovable  old  man  who  desired  to 
thank  you ;  you  will  not  forget,  I  am  sure,  this  friend  of 
books,  nor  the  testimony  of  esteem  and  sympathy  in  which 
he  held  you.' 

The  most  enthusiastic  applause  greeted  this  thoughtful 
and  charming  address. 

Then  the  president  of  the  delegates  in  a  few  affecting 
words  thanked  him  and  assured  him  that  the  memory  of 
Xavier  Marmier  would  always  be  kept  green  by  the 
bookstall  men. 

After  which  there  was  a  little  dance,  and  the  festival 
terminated  in  all  correctness,  without  a  single  drunkard 
being  observable  among  the  belated  guests,  and  thus  doing 
honour  to  the  absolute  temperance,  often  doubted,  of  the 
Paris  bookstall  men. 

The  morning  after  the  banquet  we  published  in  the 
Figaro  an  article  on  the  event  and  on  stall-keepers  in 
general ;  in  this  we  mentioned  Chanmoru,  who  occupies 
a  considerable  space  in  this  volume  in  the  chapter  on 
'  Stall-keepers  of  To-day.' 

M.  Chanmoru  having  written  a  very  correct  rectificatory 
letter  to  M.  Magnard,  the  editor  of  the  Figaro,  we  do  not 
hesitate  to  reproduce  it  here,  in  case  this  worthy -bookstall 
man  should  think  that  our  statements  regarding  him 


APPENDIX  231 


printed  some  time  ago  may  not  be   in  conformity  with 
the  facts  of  the  case. 

'  DEAR  MR.  EDITOR, 

'  My  attention  has  to-day  been  called  to  your  issue 
of  the  2ist  November,  1892,  in  which  you  have  something 
to  say  about  me.  Notwithstanding  the  sympathetic  and 
courteous  tone  of  your  article,  I  must  ask  your  permission 
to  correct  a  few  inaccuracies  into  which  your  good  faith 
has  been  led.  I  am  far  from  being  the  eccentric  individual 
and  the  cause  of  scandal  you  seem  to  imagine ;  speaking 
for  myself,  I  may  say  that  everybody  working  on  the  pub- 
lic highway  is  daily  exposed  to  incidents  that  are  often 
disagreeable. 

'  I  am,  it  is  true,  a  socialist ;  but  my  convictions  and  my 
temperament  do  not  in  any  way  urge  me  to  active  propa- 
gandism.  My  opinion  is  that  the  propaganda  should 
proceed  progressively  by  instruction,  publicity,  and  good 
example. 

'  I  am  certain  that  you  will  bring  to  the  notice  of  your 
readers  this  correction,  the  necessity  of  which  all  honest 
people  will  understand. 

'  Awaiting  the  honour  of  reading  it  in  your  journal, 
which  is  so  noted  for  its  fairness,  I  remain,  Mr.  Editor, 
your  very  humble  servant, 

'  CHANMORU, 

'  39>  Quai  des  Grands  Augustins.' 

And  now  may  this  book,  written  without  personal  feel- 
ing, and  which  is  true  as  far  as  the  documents  we  have 
collected,  and  those  which  have  been  given  to  us,  have  led 
us  to  think,  be  free  from  awaking  indignation  or  anger 
among  the  stall-keepers  passed  in  review,  the  most 
eccentric  of  whom,  it  must  be  confessed,  have  occupied 
us  most.  We  have  endeavoured  to  work  for  the  morrow, 


232 


THE  BOOK-HUNTER  IN  PARIS 


and  we  care  little  for  any  ephemeral  rancour  we  may  have 
caused  in  a  few  exalted  bosoms. 

If  the  majority  of  our  friends  of  the  quays  appreciate 
the  good-faith  of  this  book  which  is  dedicated  to  them, 
we  shall  be  fully  satisfied.  Had  we  given  the  same  meed 
of  praise  to  every  gentleman  of  the  parapet,  our  gallery  of 
portraits  would  have  been  of  no  interest,  and  our  book 
unnecessary. 


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